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.A A JSK' ^ 

A * ^ aV * 







THE WESTERN NUMBER, 





THIS NUMBER CONTAINS 

JOHN GRAY, 

AMES LANE ALLEN, Author of “Flute and Violin,” Et 

COMPLETE, 



MONTHLY MAGAZINE 

LIPPIHCOTT’S, contents No. 294. 


its Way. 


f GRAY (A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time) . 

y Editorial Experiences. (Journalist Series.) 
Portrait) ...... 

i His Mother. (A Poem.) (Portrait) 

STWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES 

Portrait) . . 

•EAD of Night. (A Poem) 
entration. (A Poem.) (Portrait) . 
i ers. (Illustrated and Portrait) 

r. (A Poem) 

Great American Desert. (Illustrated) 

[JDY from Life. (A Poem) 
he Idaho Trail. (Illustrated) 
rosse. (Athletic Series.) (Illustrated) 

Woman of the Plains. (Illustrated) 

Struggle for the West. (Illustrated) 
re the Storm. (A Poem) 

)us Mixtures. (Composite Photographs) 

■ Seems 

i the Wits. {Illustrated by leading artists.) 


James Lane Allen 641-709 


Murat Halstead . 

James Whitcomb Riley . 

Hon. John James Ingalls 
Carrie Blake Morgan 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox 
Maurice Thompson 
St. George Best 
William F. G. Shanks 
Susie M. Best 
William Y. Lovell 
Frederick Weir 
Patience Stapieto)i 
Prof. John Bach Me Master 
Robert Loveman . 


710 

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John Gray. 


A KENTUCKY TALE OF THE OLDEN TIME. 


BY 

JAMES LANE ALLEN, 

AUTHOR OF 

“FLUTE AND VIOLIN, ” “THE BLUE GRASS REGION OF KENTUCKY,” ETC. 



0 n £> 

rsj \J / 


PHILADELPHIA : 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 


r z.3 

A'va-i J 


Copyright, 1892, by J. B. Lippincott Company. 


Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A. 





LIPPINCOTT’S 


MONTHLY M agazine - 


JUNE, 1892. 


JOHN GRAY. 


I. 

WILLIAM PENN STUMBLES. 

I T was an easy path to stumble in, — being one of those wagon-tracks 
that wound mysteriously away under the dark-green forests of 
Kentucky and through the pale-green thickets of tall reed-like cane, 
ringed with delicate purple-blossoming pea-vine. An easy path to 
stumble in, — with huge stumps to be ridden around, and the loops and 
ends of roots to be avoided. And the horse was so old, so fat, so lazy, 
that he liked better to stumble and take the consequences than to be at 
the trouble to lift up his feet. Nor was the rider of a character and 
equipment to interfere, being a small creature armed only with a switch 
of wild cherry, a little hand to jerk at the bridle-reins, and a sweet 
voice in which to make remonstrance. So that as for the light shower 
of blows which sometimes fell upon his rounded flanks, William Penn 
merely gave that comforting switch of his bob tail by which he always 
expressed acquiescence in the small annoyances of his affluent mortality. 
Meanwhile, of two things he felt quite sure : that it was very kind of 
him to move along at all when he had it in his power to remain per- 
fectly still; and that as soon as he grew a little hungry— which he 
hoped might be soon — he would stop and nibble a few mouthfuls of 
the delicious greenery of the wayside, of which it seemed to him that 
he was always full but could never get enough. 

He had never tasted the Kentucky delicacy of cane garnished with 
pea-vine before this spring. For many years he had been the sole gig- 
horse of a weak-eyed old dentist and his wife living in Philadelphia. 
In 1793, the doctor, greatly shrivelled and with professional fortunes 
that decayed faster than the molars of his acquaintances, conceived the 
enterprise of emigrating to Lexington, Kentucky ; for the. world was 
full of rumors touching the W^est, and the new land was said not only 
to be good for sore eyes, but to be inhabited by people who fought so 


644 


JOHN GRAY. 


much that there was constant need of new front teeth. At first he and 
his wife, who was delicate, had thought of setting out through the 
wilderness with William Penn and the gig; but, yielding to better 
counsels, they started in a wagon-train, though not without many em- 
braces of their bereft servitor and minute directions that he should 
never be allowed to see the bottom of his manger ; and hardly were 
they settled in Lexington before they sent back for him to come out 
and join them. 

It is discovered that he must have left Philadelphia on his journey 
across the Alleghany Mountains some time early in April ; but it is 
certain that he did not turn up in Lexington until several months later ; 
by which time his master and mistress, having succumbed to the hard- 
ships of the journey, homesickness, and a change of life, were dead 
and buried, and indeed well-nigh forgotten. So that immediately upon 
his arrival in town, looking a good deal ashamed of himself and not a 
little surprised, he was dragged with violence to the common and knocked 
down at public sale to a Major Falconer, — price, one small mink-skin. 
Had William Penn known his market value, he must have been greatly 
mortified ; for he thought extremely well of himself, after a manner 
of fat old creatures. 

This was long ago, then, — as far back as the year 1795, — and near 
the middle of a sweet afternoon in May. 

Far overhead vast mountain-ridges of many-peaked gleaming clouds, 
— those dear Alps of the blue air ; outstretched far below the warm 
bosom of the earth, throbbing with the hope of vast maternity ; tw r o 
spirits abroad, everywhere shyly encountering each other and passing 
into one, — the pure heavenly spirit of scentless spring, born of melting 
snows, and the pure earthly spirit of odorous summer, born of the 
hearts of flowers ; the road one of those wagon-tracks that were then 
being opened through the parklands of the Indians to the clearings of 
the earliest settlers, and that wound along beneath trees of which those 
now seen in Kentucky are the last unworthy offspring, — oaks and 
walnuts, maples and elms, centuries old, gnarled, massive, drooping, 
majestic, through whose leafy arches the powerful sun hurled down 
only some solitary slanting spear of gold, and over whose gray-mossed 
roots some cold brook crept in silence ; with here and there billowy 
open spaces of wild rye, buffalo grass, and clover, on which the light 
fell in solid sheets of soft radiance ; with other spots of perpetual 
woodland twilight so dim that for ages no green shoot had sprung from 
the deep black vegetable mould ; blown softly to and fro across this 
pathway, cool pungent odors of ivy, pennyroyal, and mint, mingled 
with the warmer fragrance of wild grape ; flitting to and fro across it, 
as low as the violet-beds, as high as the topmost branches of the syca- 
mores, unnumbered kinds of birds, some of which, like the paroquet, 
are now long since vanished : — a primeval woodland avenue, down 
which the mother of mankind might fitly have walked for the adorn- 
ment of her beauty as through a glade of Eden. 

But, instead of the fabled mother, down it now there came in a 
drowsy amble an old white bob-tail horse, his polished coat shining 
like silver when he crossed an expanse of sunlight, fading into spectral 


JOHN GRAY. 


645 


pallor when lie passed under the twilight of the rayless trees ; his bushy 
foretop floating like a snowy plume in the light wind ; his unshod feet, 
half covered by the long thick fetlocks, stepping noiselessly over the 
loamy earth ; the rims of his nostrils expanding like flexible ebony ; 
and in his filmy eyes that look of peace which is never seen in any but 
those of petted animals. 

On his head he wore an old bridle with heavy knots of wild blue 
violets tied at his ears; on his broad back was spread an immense 
blanket of buflalo-skin ; on this rested a worn black side-saddle with 
a blue girth, — newly bought, for William Penn was hard on girths, — 
and sitting in the saddle was a young girl, whom many a young Vir- 
ginian of the town to his sorrow knew to be Amy Falconer, and whom 
many a lonely old pioneer dreamed of as he fell asleep between his rifle 
and his hunting-knife in some snow-wrapt cabim of the wilderness. 
Amy Falconer ! The one beautiful woman that had thus far been seen 
in Kentucky, and the first of the famous, innumerable train of those 
illustrious ones who for a hundred years since have wrecked or saved 
the destinies of the men. 

The skirt of her pink calico dress, newly starched and ironed, had 
looked so pretty to her — so very pretty — that she had not been able to 
bear the thought of wearing over it this lovely afternoon her faded, 
mud-stained riding-habit ; and it was so short and narrow that it showed, 
resting against the saddle, her little feet loosely fitted into new bronze 
morocco shoes. On her hands she had drawn white half-hand mittens 
of home-knit ; and on her head she wore an enormous white scoop 
bonnet, lined with pink and tied under her chin in a huge white muslin 
bow. Her face, hidden away under the pink and white half-shadow 
of this circulating tunnel, showed such tints of pearl and rose that it 
seemed carved from the inner surface of a sea-shell. Her eyes were a 
cold gray, almond-shaped, rather wide apart, with an expression change- 
ful and playful, but withal rather shrewd and hard ; her light-brown 
hair, as fine as unspun silk, was parted over her brow and drawn severely 
back behind her opalescent toys of ears; and the lips of her little 
mouth curved and rested against each other as fresh and velvet-like as 
tw'o half-opened rose-leaves. 

Thus on she rode down that avenue of the primeval woods; and 
nature seemed arranged to salute her passing as for that of some lovely 
imperial presence : the soft waving of a hundred green boughs above 
her and on each side ; the hundred floating odors that are the great 
mother's breath of love; the flash and rush of bright wings; the swift 
play of nimble forms up and down the boles of trees ; and all the 
sweet confusion of innumerable melodies. 

Then happened one of those trifles that contain the history of our 
lives, as a drop of dew on the edge of a leaf draws into itself the 
majesty and solemnity of the heavens. 

From the right pommel of the side-saddle there dangled a heavy 
roll of homespun linen, which she was taking to town to her aunt's 
grocer in exchange for queensware pitchers ; and behind this roll of 
linen, fastened to a brass ring under the seat of the saddle, was swung 
a bundle tied up in a large blue-and- white checked cotton handkerchief. 


646 


JOHN GRAY. 


Whenever she fidgeted in the saddle, or whenever the horse stumbled, 
the string by which this bundle was tied slipped a little through the 
knot and the bundle hung a little lower down. Just where the wagon- 
trail passed out into the broader public road leading to Lexington from 
Frankfort and the travelling began to be really good, the horse brought 
one of his lazy forefeet against the loop of a pliant root, was. thrown 
forward in a blurred heap of white, and the bundle slipped from the 
saddle noiselessly to the soft earth. 

She did not see it. She merely gathered the reins more tightly in 
one hand, pushed back her bonnet which now hung down over her eyes 
like the bill of a Mediterranean pelican, and applied the switch to the 
horse’s flank with such determined vehemence that a gadfly which was 
about to alight on that favored spot actually went to the other side. 

And so out of the lengthening shadows of the woods they passed 
on toward the little town ; and far behind them in the public road lay 
the lost bundle. 


II. 


A DRESS ON THE WALL. 

In the open square on Cheapside in Lexington there is a bronze 
statue of John Breckinridge. Not far from this spot a hundred years 
ago the pioneers had built the first log school-house of the town. 

Poor old school -house, long since become scattered ashes ! Poor little 
backwoods academicians, driven in about sunrise, driven out toward 
dusk ! Poor little tired backs with nothing to lean against ! Poor little 
bare feet that could never reach the floor ! Poor little droop-headed 
figures, so sleepy, so afraid to fall asleep ! Long, long since, little chil- 
dren of the past, those backs have become straight enough, measured 
on a cool bed ; sooner or later your bare feet, wherever wandering, have 
come to rest on the soft earth ; and all your drooping heads have found 
the same dreamless pillow to sleep on, and there still are sleeping. And 
the imperious school-master, too, who seemed exempt from physical 
frailty, — the young school-master who guarded as a stern sentinel that 
lonely outpost of the imperilled alphabet, — even he long ago laid him- 
self down on the same mortal level with you as a common brother. 
But is there not a tale of him and the first beautiful woman of the 
town that will have a meaning as long as the heart beats? 

John Gray, the school-master ! At four o’clock that afternoon he 
was standing on the hickory block which formed the door-step, having 
just closed the door behind him for the day. Down at his side between 
the thumb and forefinger of one hand hung his great black hat, which 
was decorated with a tricolored cockade, to show that he was a member 
of the Democratic Society of Lexington, modelled after the Demo- 
cratic Society of Philadelphia and the Jacobin Clubs of France. In 
the open palm of the other lay his big silver English lever watch with 
glass case and broad black silk fob J 

A young fellow of powerful build, lean, muscular ; wearing simply 
but with gentlemanly care a suit of black, which was relieved around 
his wrists and neck by linen, snow-white and of the finest quality. In 


JOHN GRAY. 


647 


contrast with his severe dress, a complexion singularly fresh, pure, even 
brilliant in tone, but colorless, — the complexion of health and inno- 
cence ; in contrast with this from above, a mass of coarse dark-red hair, 
cut short and everywhere closely curling. Much physical beauty in 
the head itself, — the shape being noble, the pose creating an impression 
of dignity ; almost none in the face, except in the gray eyes, which were 
especially eloquent and true. Yet a face not without moral significance 
or intellectual power; rugged as a rock, but as a rock is made less 
rugged by a little vine creeping over it, so his was softened by a fine 
net- work of nerves that wrought out upon it a look of kindness ; be- 
traying the first nature of passion, but disciplined to the second nature 
of patience ; youthful, but wearing those unmistakable marks of ma- 
turity which mean a fierce early struggle with that vast, undying 
monster we call the world. On the whole, with the calm, resolute, self- 
respecting air of one who, having thus far won in the battle of life, 
has only a fiercer longing for larger conflict, and whose entire char- 
acter rests on the noiseless conviction that he is a man and a gentleman. 

But deeper insight would have been needed to discover how sincere 
and earnest a soul he was, how high a value he set on what life had in 
store for him and on what his life was worth to himself and to others, 
and how, loving rather to help himself than to be helped, he loved less 
to be trifled with, and least of all to be seriously hindered. 

At this moment he was thinking, as his eyes rested on the watch, 
that if this were one of his ordinary days he would pursue his ordinary 
duties : he would go straight up street to the office of Marshall and for 
the next hour read as many pages of law as possible ; then to supper 
at the Sign of the Spinning-Wheel near the two locust-trees; then 
walk out into the country for two hours ; then back to his room and 
more law until midnight by the light of his tallow dip. 

But this was not an ordinary day, — being one that he had long 
waited for and was destined never to forget. At dusk the evening be- 
fore, the post-rider, so tired that he had scarce strength to blow his 
horn, had ridden into town bringing the mail from Philadelphia; and 
in this mail there was news for him. At the thought of this he thrust 
his watch into his pocket, pulled his hat resolutely over his brow, and 
started rapidly to Main Street, turning thence toward Cross Street, — 
now known as Broadway. On the outskirts of the town in that direc- 
tion lay the edge of the forest, stretching away for hundreds of miles 
toward the Cumberland Mountains. 

But he did not get on as fast as he wished. Main Street was 
swarming with people. He knew everybody, everybody knew him. 
A patron of the school stopped him to explain why little Jennie had 
not come to school that day, — poor little Jennie, in whose organism the 
mysteries of colic and subtraction seemed to be vitally connected, and 
by working together caused her many absences. A timid young lady 
paused to ask that he would lend her his copy of “ Romeo and Juliet.” 
A group of married ladies closed in around him with a flurry of ques- 
tions as to why he always took his walk of late toward the woods on 
the southwestern edge of the town. An old shoemaker, flushed and 
angry, jumped from his stool at his front window, and begged him to 


648 


JOHN GRAY. 


come in and look at a column of figures that wouldn’t “ add up right/’ 
although he had been adding them ever since dinner. At the new 
book-store he must stop and examine various classics of English litera- 
ture lately taken off the pack-horses. And when at last he had reached 
the long open green common of the town, they were holding foot-races 
there, and three lithe young fellows, stripped and girt for racing, beheld 
him from the upper end of the course and ran up with the speed of the 
wind, bantering him for a contest; for he was one of the best runners 
in the countryside. 

But he disengaged himself as quickly as possible, and was soon 
climbing with long rapid strides the hill where the Federal fort stood 
during the civil war. Then he slackened his pace. Before him stretched 
the primeval forest. He entered it, keeping his face turned squarely 
toward the lowering sun until, having gone about a mile and a half, he 
came upon evidences of a clearing : felled trees, fields of young maize, 
orchards, a garden, and in the midst of these a frame dwelling with 
various comfortable outhouses. 

He went on straight toward the house ; but as he passed the garden 
he saw standing in one corner with a rake in her hand a delicately- 
formed little woman in homespun, and near her a negro lad drop- 
ping garden-seed : so that he approached and leaned over the picket 
fence. 

“ How do you do, Mrs. Falconer?” 

She turned with a startled cry, dropping the rake and pushing her 
sun bon net from her eyes. 

“ How unkind of you to frighten me !” she said, laughing, and then 
she came to the fence and gave him her hand, — beautiful, but hardened 
by work. “ I am glad to see you, but I am still more glad that it is 
not a Shawnee, come to demand my hair.” 

“ I have come to demand something more beautiful than vour hair,” 
he replied, laughing also, and with a flush overspreading his face. 

“ I shall never get used to it,” she continued, not heeding his words 
and not yet recovered from her fright. “ We have been living in Ken- 
tucky two years, but I shall never get used to this frontier life. It is 
not the hardship : it is the terror. I have fortitude ; I’ve no courage. 
These native Kentucky women no more fear anything than so many 
she-bears defending their cubs. Sometimes I beg Major Falconer to let 
me go back to Raleigh, so that for one month I may regain the lost art 
of sound sleep. Do you really believe that the country is safe ? They 
say there is not an Indian this side of the Ohio River, but I hear and 
see them all the time. If anything frightens the ducks, I get weak 
with palpitation ; and there are times when my own churn out in the 
yard looks like a squaw. I believe that I have something like Indian 
cataract forming on both eyes.” And she laughed softly. 

She had one of the rarest of feminine virtues: she made sport of 
her own weaknesses instead of those of other people. 

Plainly they were good friends ; and as he stood leaning over the 
fence with his hat in his hand and a smile lighting up his face, she went 
industriously back to the seed-planting. 

“ How can you retain your self-respect, to stand there idling and 


JOHN ORA Y. 049 

see me toiling here in the sweat of my brow, like Eve after she was 
cursed ?” 

“ Perhaps it is my duty not to interfere with the operation of a 
divine command.” 

“ There is no divine command that I should plant corn : it is a 
necessity of the Kentucky backwoods. If I were in North Carolina, 
and if the major were not an impoverished patriot of the Revolution, 
I might be lying on a yellow satin sofa, reading Voltaire. Don’t you 
think that Voltaire and yellow satin sofas go together? And, ah, that 
prayer, i Give us our daily bread/ — not make us work for it ! I never 
omit the prayer ; but the bread is never given ; either I buy it or I 
work for it, as though I were under the old curse. Perhaps I am ; 
perhaps I belong to the days of Sarah : this is a very primitive world 
I’m now in. Besides, this is not my work : it’s Amy’s work. Aren’t 
you willing to work for Amy, John Gray ?” 

“ I’m willing to work for her. But ought I to do her work, so 
long as she can do it herself? But if the queen sits quietly in the 
parlor eating bread and honey ” 

“ The queen’s not in the parlor eating bread and honey. She has 
gone to town to stay with Kitty Poythress until after the party. Her 
uncle was to take her in to-morrow ; but no ! she and Kitty must see 
each other to-night ; and her uncle must be sure to bring the party 
finery in the gig to-morrow afternoon. I’m sorry you’ve had your 
walk for nothing; but you’ll stay to supper?” 

“ Thank you, but I must go back.” 

“If you’ll stay, I’ll go in and make you a johnny-cake on a new 
pine shingle and with my own hands.” 

“ Thank you, In*eally must go back. But if there’s a johnny-cake 
already made, I could easily take it along with me.” 

“ Do stay ! Major Falconer will be so disappointed. He said at 
dinner there were so many things he wanted to talk to you about. He 
feels certain that he has at last discovered why Ophelia went mad. He 
hit upon this theory while he was burning brush in the new field. And, 
then, we have had no news for weeks. The major has been too busy 
to go to town, and too tired at night to read ; and I ! — I am as dry as 
one of the gourds of Confucius,” 

“ Oh, there’s news enough. Tell him that a bookbinder has opened 
a shop on Cross Street, — a capital hand at the business, by the name 
of Leischman, — and that he will take in exchange, at the regular market 
prices, linen rags, maple sugar, and goose-quills. I advise you to keep 
an eye on your geese, if the major once takes a notion to have his old 
Shakespeare and other volumes, that had their bindings knocked off 
in crossing the Alleghanies, elegantly rebound. You can tell him, 
also, that after a squirrel-hunt in Bourbon county the farmers counted 
scalps and they numbered five thousand five hundred and eighty-nine ; 
so that he is not the only one who has trouble with his corn. And 
then you can tell him that on the common the other day Nelson Tapp 
and Willis Tandy had a fearful fight over a land-suit. Now it was 
Tandy and Tapp ; now it was Tapp and Tandy ; but they went off at 
last and drowned themselves, if not their land, in a bowl of sagamity.” 


650 


JOHN GRAY. 


“ And there is no news for me, I suppose ?” # 

“ Oh, yes ! Much. I am happy to inform you that at Mcllvain s 
you can now buy the finest Dutch and English qualities of letter-paper, 
gilt, embossed, or marbled.” 

“ That is not very important.” 

“ Well, then, a saddlery has been opened by two fellows from 
London, England, and you can now buy Amy a new side-saddle. She 
needs one.” 

“ Neither is that important. Besides, the major buys the saddles 
for the family.” 

“ Well, then, as I came out, I passed on Main Street some ladies 
who accused me of being on my way here, and who impressed upon 
me that I must tell you of the last displays of women-wear : painted 
and velvet ribbons, I think they said, and cr6pe scarfs, and chintzes 
and nankeens and moreens and sarcenets, and — oh, yes ! — some muslin- 
ette jackets tamboured with gold and silver. You see, I am like my 
children : I can remember what I can’t understand.” 

“ That is less important still. I adorn myself in homespun.” 

“ Well, then, the Indians fired on the Ohio packet-boat near Three 
Islands and killed ” 

“ Oh, mercy ! I want foreign news !” 

“ In Holland two thousand cats have been put into the corn-stores, 
to check the ravages of rats and mice.” 

“ French news ! do be serious !” 

“ In New York some Frenchmen, seeing their flag insulted by Eng- 
lishmen who took it down from the liberty-cap, went up-stairs to the 
room of an English officer named Codd, seized his regimental coat, and 
tore it to pieces.” 

“ I’m glad of it ! It was a very proper action !” 

“ But, madam, the man Codd was perfectly innocent !” 

“ No matter ! His coat was guilty. They didn’t tear him to pieces : 
they tore his coat. Are there any new books at the stores ?” 

“Many. I have spent part of the last three days in looking over 
them. You can have new copies of your old favorites, Joseph An- 
drews, Roderick Random, or Humphrey Clinker. You can have Gold- 
smith and Young, and Chesterfield and Addison. There is Don Quixote 
and Hudibras, Gulliver and Hume, Paley and Butler, Hervey and 
Watts, Lavater and Trenck, Seneca and Gregory, Nepos and even As- 
pasia Vindicated, — to say nothing of Abelard and HGoise and Thomas 
k Kernpis. All the Voltaires have been sold, however, and the Tom 
Paines went off at a rattling gait. By the way, while on the subject 
of books, tell the major that we have raised five hundred dollars toward 
buying books for the Transylvania Library, and that as soon as my 
school is out I am to go East as a purchasing committee. What par- 
ticularly interests me is, that I am to go to Mount Vernon and ask a 
subscription from President Washington. Think of it! Think of 
my presenting myself there with my tricolored cockade, — a Kentucky 
Jacobin !” 

She had seen from the outset that his mood was unusual. On his 
face, in his words, in the playful caprices of his talk, — like little whirl i- 


JOHN GRAY. 


651 


gigs of wind among dry leaves, — there was a joyous excitement the 
true secret mainspring of which had not yet been revealed. At this 
point his expression for the first time grew serious. 

“ The President may be so occupied with the plots of you American 
Jacobins that he will have neither time nor inclination to consider any 
such petition/’ she said, divining his thoughts. 

“ At least I am glad of my mission. I have never set eyes on a 
great man, and my heart beats quick at the thought of it. I feel as a 
young Gaul might who was going to Rome to ask Caesar for gold with 
which to overthrow him. Seriously, it would be a fearful thing for 
the country if a treaty should be ratified with England. There is not 
a democratic society from Boston to Charleston that will not feel en- 
raged with the President. You may be sure that every patriot in Ken- 
tucky will be outraged, and that the Governor will denounce it to the 
House.” 

“ There is news from France, then, — serious news ?” 

“ Much, much ! The National Convention has agreed to carry into 
full effect the treaty of commerce between the two Republics, and the 
French and American flags have been united and suspended in the hall. 
The Dutch have declared the sovereignty of the French, and French 
and Dutch patriots have taken St. Martin’s. The English have declared 
war against the Dutch and granted letters of marque and reprisals. 
There has been a complete change in the Spanish ministry. There has 
been a treaty made between France and the Grand Duke of Tuscany. 
The French fleet is in the West Indies and has taken possession of 
Guadeloupe. All French emigrants in Switzerland have been ordered 
to remove ten leagues from the borders of France. A hundred and 
fifty thousand Austrians are hurrying down toward the Rhine, to be 
reinforced by fifty thousand more.” 

He h^id run over these items with the rapidity of one who has his 
eye on the map of the world, noting the slightest change in the situation 
of affairs ; and she, having left her work and come to the fence, had 
listened eagerly like one no less well informed. 

“ But the treaty ! The treaty ! The open navigation of the 
Mississippi !” 

“ The last news is that the treaty will certainly be concluded and 
the open navigation of the Mississippi assured to us forever. The 
major will load his flatboats, drift down to New Orleans, sell those 
Spanish fops his tobacco for its weight in gems, buy a mustang to ride 
home on, and, if not robbed and murdered by the land-pirates on the 
way, come back to you like an enormous bumble-bee from a clover- 
field, his thighs heavily packed with gold.” 

“ I am so glad, so glad, so glad !” 

He drew from his pockets a roll. 

“ Here are papers for two months back. I’ll leave them. Just now 
there is no time to discuss such trifles as revolutions and navies and 
dynasties and republics. I have come to speak of something more 
important. My dear friend, I have come to speak to you about — 
myself !” 

As he uttered the last sentence, his manner, hitherto so full of 


652 


JOHN GRAF. 


humor and vivacity, suddenly changed to one of grave gentleness, and 
his voice, sinking to a half-tone, became charged with penetrative music. 
It was the voice in which one refined and sincere soul confides to an- 
other refined and sincere soul the secret of some new happiness that 
has come to it. 

But, noticing the negro lad, who had paused in his work several 
paces off and stood regarding them, he said to her, significantly, — 

“ May I have a drink ?” 

She turned to the negro : 

“ Go to the spring-house and bring some water ; and remember that 
all the milk down there is poisoned.” 

The lad moved away, laughing to himself and shaking his head. 

“ He breaks every pitcher I have,” she added. “ To-day I had to 
send my last roll of linen to town by Amy to buy more queensware. 
The moss will grow on the bucket before he gets back.” 

When the boy was out of hearing, she turned again to him : 

“ What is it? Tell me quickly.” 

“ I have had news from Philadelphia. The case is at last decided in 
favor of the heirs, and I come at once into possession of my share. It 
may be eight or ten thousand dollars.” 

She took his hands in hers with a warm close pressure, and tears — 
tears of joy — sprang to her eyes. 

The whole of his bare, bleak, hard life was known to her : its half- 
starved beginning ; its early merciless buffeting ; the upheaval of vast 
circumstance in the revolutionary history of the times by which he had 
again and again been thrown back upon his own undefended virtue ; 
and, stealthily following him from place to place, always closing around 
him, always seeking to strangle him, or to poison him in some vital 
spot, that most silent, subtile serpent of life, — Poverty. Knowing 
this, and knowing also the man he had become, she would in secret 
sometimes liken him to one of those rare unions of delicacy and hardi- 
hood which in the world of wild flowers nature refuses to bring forth 
except from the cranny of a cold rock. Its home is the battle-field of 
black roaring tempests ; the red lightnings play among its roots ; all 
night long seamless snow-drifts are woven around its heart ; no bee 
ever rises to it from the valley below where the green spring is kneeling ; 
no morning bird ever soars past it with observant song ; but still, in due 
time, with unswerving obedience to a law of beauty unfolding from 
within, it sets forth its perfect leaves and strains its pure face stead- 
fastly toward a hidden sun. 

These paltry thousands ! She realized that they would lift from 
him the burden of debts that he had assumed, and give him, without 
further waiting, the liberty of his powers and the opportunities of the 
world. 

“ God bless you !” she said, with trembling lips. “ It makes me 
happier than it does you.” 

Silence fell upon them. Both were thinking of the changes that 
would now take place in his life. 

“ Ho you know,” he said at length, looking into her face with the 
quietest smile, “ that if this law-suit had gone against me it would have 


JOHN GRAY. 


653 


been the first great defeat of my life ? Sorely as I have struggled, I 
have yet to encounter that common myth of inefficient characters, an 
insurmountable barrier. I am not so sure that I believe there are 
forces in society that are stronger than the will. The imperfection of 
our lives, — what is it but the imperfection of our planning and our 
doing ? Shattered ideals, — what hand shatters them but one’s own ? 
I declare to you at this moment, standing here in the clear light of my 
own past, that I firmly believe I shall be what I will, that I shall have 
what I want, and that I shall now go on rearing the structure of my 
life, to the last detail, just as I have long conceived it.” 

She did not answer, but stood looking at him with a new pity in 
her eyes. After all, was he so young, so untaught of the world? 

“ There will be this difference, of course,” he added. “ Hitherto 
I have had to build slowly; henceforth there will be no delay, now 
that I am free to lay hold upon the material. But, my dear friend, I 
cannot bear to think of my life as a structure to be conscientiously 
reared without settling first how it is to be lighted from within. And, 
therefore, I have come to speak to you about — the lamp.” 

As he said this, a solemn beauty flashed out upon his face. As 
though the outer curtain of his nature had been drawn up and behind 
this an inner curtain and behind that yet another, she now gazed into 
the farthest depths and veiled semi-confidences of his inmost being. 

Her head dropped quickly on her bosom ; and she drew slightly 
back, as though to escape pain or danger. 

“ You must know how long I have loved Amy,” he continued, in a 
tone of forced calmness. “ I have not spoken sooner, because the cir- 
cumstances of my life made it necessary for me to wait; and now I 
wish to ask her to become my wife, and I am here to beg your con- 
sent.” 

For some time she did not answer. The slip of an elm grew 
beside the picket fence, and she stood passing her fingers over the top- 
most leaves, with her head lowered, so that he could not see her face. 
At length she said, in a voice uneasy and cautious, — 

“ I have feared for a long time that this moment would come; but 
I have never been able to get ready for it, and I am not ready now.” 

Neither spoke for some time ; only, his expression changed, and he 
looked down upon her with a compassionate, amused gravity, as though 
he meant in a rather superior way to be very patient with her opposi- 
tion. On her part, she was thinking, — Is it possible that the first use 
he will make of his new liberty is to forge the chain of a new slavery? 
Is this some weak spot now to be revealed in his character? Is this 
the sudden drain in the bottom of the lake, that will bring its high 
clear level down to mud and stagnant shallows and a swarm of stinging 
insects? 

“ I have known for a year that you were interested in Amy. You 
could not have been so much with us without our seeing that.* But let 
me ask you one question : Have you ever thought that I wished you 
to love her ?” 

“ I have always beheld in you an unmasked enemy,” he replied, 
smiling. 


654 


JOHN GRAY. 


“ Then I can go on and be consistent. But I feel — I feel — as 
though never in my life have I done a thing that is as near being 
familiar and unwomanly as I am now about to do. Nevertheless, for 
your sake, — for hers, — for ours, — it is my plain hard duty to ask you 
whether you are sure — even if you should have her consent — that my 
niece is the woman you ought to marry.” And she lifted to him her 
gentle but penetrating eyes, old in the experience of life. 

“ I am sure,” he answered, in the ready tone of one who has fore- 
seen a question. 

“ You have been so much with her, you know, or ought to know, 
her disposition, her tastes, her ways and views of life : is she the com- 
panion you need now and will always need ?” 

“ I have been much with her,” he replied, taking up the words with 
a mock solemnity. “ But I have never worked at solving her as over 
an equation having various roots. I have never drawn a map of her, 
noting the precipices where it would be dangerous for a man to walk, 
and tracing the ditches into which a careless man might deserve to 
stumble. I have not turned the coat of my love inside out to examine 
the lining. I have not churned my love to see how much butter it 
would yield ” 

“ John !” 

“ I love her !” 

“ If I should feel that I must withhold my consent ” 

He became serious enough, and, after the silence of a few moments, 
said, with respectful gentleness, — 

“ I should be sorry ; but ” and then he forbore. 

“If Major Falconer should withhold his?” 

He shook his head, turning his face sadly : 

“ It would make no difference ! Nothing would make any differ- 
ence !” 

“ I suppose all this would be called the proof that you love her ; 
but love is not enough to begin with; much less is it enough to 
live by.” 

“You wrong her! You do not do her justice!” he said, hastily, 
his instinct of loyalty urging him to defend her. “ But perhaps no 
woman can ever understand why a man loves any other woman !” 

“ I am not thinking of why you love my niece. I am thinking of 
why you will cease to love her if you should marry her. It would not 
alter the fact to know the reasons ; it might alter it to foresee the 
results.” 

“ My dear friend,” he cried, his face suddenly aglow with impatient 
enthusiasm, — “ my dear friend,” and he bent his head over to touch 
her hand respectfully with his lips, “ I have but one anxiety : will you 
cease to be my friend if in this matter I act in opposition to your 
wishes ?” 

“ Should I cease to be your friend because you had made a mistake ? 
It is not to me you are unkind. But let me have my last word. And 
think of it as you walk home.” 

He looked steadily and gravely into her eyes, and she, having a 
weight of unshed tears in hers, spoke with slow distinctness : 


JOHN GRAY. 


655 


u Some women in marrying demand all and give all : with good 
men they are the happy ; with base men they are the broken-hearted. 
Some demand everything and give little : with weak men they are 
tyrants ; with strong men they are the divorced. Some demand little 
and give all : with congenial souls they are already in heaven ; with un- 
congenial they are soon in their graves. Some give little and demand 
little : they are the heartless, and with them there is neither the joy of 
life nor the peace of death.” 

He did not return to town by the straight course through the woods, 
but followed the winding road at a slow, meditative gait, giving him- 
self up wholly to the influence of the hour. The low-glinting sunbeams, 
the gathering hush, the holy expectancy of stars, a flock of white clouds 
lying at rest along the sky, the greenness of the warm earth soon to be 
hung with dews, the redbreast on a low bough singing its evensong, — 
these melted into his mood as notes from different instruments blend 
in the ear and uplift the soul into that many-toned peace which is full 
of pain. 

But he was soon aroused in an unexpected way. When he reached 
the point where the wagon-track passed out into the broader road, he 
noticed lying several yards in front of him a large bundle tied in a 
blue-and-white checked cotton handkerchief. 

Plainly it was a lost bundle, and his duty to find out, if possible, 
whose it was. So he picked it up, and, walking to one side, sat down, 
and, untying the four ends of the handkerchief, lifted out one wide 
white lace tucker, two fine cambric handkerchiefs, two pairs of India 
cotton hose, one pair of silk hose, two thin muslin handkerchiefs, one 
pair of long kid gloves, — straw-color, — one pair of white kid shoes, one 
pale-blue silk coat, one thin white striped muslin dress. 

Under the dress lay certain other articles; but at this point he 
allowed himself the benefit of his doubts. 

Whose were they ? Not Amy’s : Mrs. Falconer had said the major 
was to bring her party finery to town in the gig the next day. They 
might have been lost by some one riding from Frankfort to town, or 
from town into the country. He knew several young women to any 
one of whom they might well belong. 

It was dark when he got back to town, and he went straight to his 
room and locked the bundle in a closet ; then to supper at the Sign of 
the Spinning-Wheel, — a cheerful tavern near by ; then home, where he 
read law with intense concentration of mind till near midnight. Then 
he snuffed out the candle, undressed, and stretched himself along the 
edge of his bed. 

It was a plain bare room on the ground-floor of a two-story log 
house. At the head of his bed there was a window opening toward the 
east, and the moonlight now filled the room and fell upon him where 
he lay. 

Every bachelor is really the husband of an old maid. For every 
single man carries around within him the spirit of a woman to whom 
he is more or less happily wedded. When a man actually marries, this 
inner helpmate wisely disappears in the presence of her external con- 
temporary. 


656 


JOHN GRAY. 


The woman in Gray now began to question him remorsefully about 
this bundle. Was it right to leave it in his three-cornered cupboard, 
with his Cossack boots and other male haberdashery ? The man in 
him said it made no difference ; but the woman insisted otherwise. So 
that at last, for the sake of inward peace, he got patiently up with the 
submissive virtue of the sex, went to the cupboard, and, untying the 
bundle, carefully lifted out the dress. 

Along the wall opposite to his bed there was a row of pegs, on which 
hung his own clothes. As he now walked across the room with the 
dress, a light wind, coming through the open window, blew the soft 
fabric close against him, so that it folded itself around his body and 
limbs and clung to them. It caused him a subtle sensation of pleasure, 
as though it were the embrace of a woman’s spirit. 

Then he went back and lay on the edge of the bed again. But now 
the sight of the dress hanging on the wall held his eyes with a kind of 
dreamy fascination. The moonlight fell on it, the wind crept around 
and swayed it, until at times it looked like the wing of an angel rest- 
less for flight. Certainly it was the nearest approach to the presence 
of a woman in his room that he had ever known, and he welcomed it 
as the silent spotless annunciation of his own approaching destiny. 

After a while he got up more resolutely under the spell of a grow- 
ing fancy. He lifted out the pale-blue silk coat and hung it beside the 
dress. Under it there stood a low table covered with books. He took 
out the white shoes and set them on this table, — set them, as it hap- 
pened, on his Bible, — and went back and lay down again, looking at 
them and dreaming, — looking at them and dreaming. 

All the while his thoughts passed like a shining flight of white 
doves to her and hovered about her. The party came off on Thursday 
evening, and he was to go with her ; but he now said that he could not 
wait until then. The long restraint he had put upon himself must end 
to-morrow. To-morrow he would see her and ask her to be his wife. 

And then, his whole nature yielding to this resolve, as chastely as 
the moonbeams Stole into his room from the unsullied skies his thoughts 
stole farther to the time when she would be his, — when he would lie 
thus and waking in the night see her dress on the wall and feel her 
head on his shoulder, — until his very heart ached with the intense illu- 
sion of its own happiness. 

Too young, too robust, to feel at such a moment the impulse of 
articulate prayer, he nevertheless spent himself in one impassioned 
voiceless outcry that she might not die young nor he die young; that 
the hardship, the pain, the conflicts of the world which had so closely 
begirt him hitherto, might for many years be absent from them, and 
that side by side they might grow peacefully old together. 

And, thus, lying outstretched, with his head resting on his folded 
hands, with the moonlight streaming through the window and lighting 
up his dark-red curls and falling on his face and neck and chest, — as 
white as marble, — with the cool south wind blowing down his warm 
limbs, with his eyes opening and closing in religious purity on the dress 
and his mind opening and closing on the visions of his future, he fell 
asleep. 


JOHN GRAY. 


6 57 


III. 

A LESSON FROM THE BATTLE OF THE BLUE LICKS. 

When John Gray awoke out of those dreams that had hung about 
his fancy all night, as soft white moths flutter around the half-opened 
hearts of flowers, and remembered that on this day he was to make a 
declaration of his love, for the first time his own life seemed to take 
on full significance. Before he got up, he stretched himself and yawned 
with a drowsy smile, as though the riddle of the universe floated solved 
from his bedpost like a yesterday’s broken cobweb. 

While taking his morning bath, he -was struck by the beauty of his 
form, the tints of his flesh. He wished there had been a friend in the 
next room, so that he could have run in and cried, “ Really, look at 
my neck and chest and arms. My face does me much injustice. I am 
not ugly !” As he stepped out into the early morning and lifted his 
face to the sky, he murmured reverently under his breath, “ Ah, Lord ! 
if all Thy days could be as beautiful as this !” During breakfast at 
the Sign of the Spinning-Wheel, he exclaimed more than once to his 
landlady about something on the table, “ How delicious this is !” and 
finally bade her sit down by him and tell him whether her son were 
not in love. 

And when he took his seat in the school-room and looked out upon 
the children, they had never seemed to him so small, so pitiful. It 
struck him that Nature is cruel because she does not fit us for love and 
marriage as soon as we are born, — cruel that she makes us wait two- 
thirds of our lives before she lets us really begin to live. His eye lit 
upon a wee chubby-cheeked urchin on the end of a high hard bench, 
and he fell to counting how many long years must pass before that un- 
suspicious grub would grow his palpitating wings of flame. He felt 
like making them a little speech and telling them how happy he was, 
and how happy they would all be when they got old enough. 

And as for the lessons that day, what difference could it make 
whether ideas were sprouting sideways or upside-down in those useless 
brains ? He asked the hard questions and answered them himself, such 
a mood was on him to relax ; and, indeed, so sunny and exhilarating 
was the weather of his discipline that little Jennie, seeing how the rays 
fell and the wind lay, gave up the multiplication-table altogether and 
fell to drawing tomahawks. 

A strange mixture of human life there was in Gray’s school. There 
were the native little Kentuckians, born in the wilderness, — the first- 
wild, hardy generation of new people; and there were little folk from 
Virginia, from Tennessee, from North Carolina, and from Pennsylvania 
and other sources, huddled together, some rude, some gentle, and starting 
out now to be formed into the men and women of the Kentucky that 
was to be. 

They had their strange, sad, heroic games and pastimes, those prim- 
itive children under his guidance. Two little girls would be driving 
the cows home about dusk ; three little boys would play Indian and 
capture them and carry them off* ; the husbands of the little girls would 
Vol. XLIX.— 42 ’ 


658 


JOHN GRAY. 


form a party to the rescue ; the prisoners would drop pieces of their 
dresses along the way ; and then at a certain point of the woods — it 
being the dead of night now, and the little girls being bound to a tree, 
and the Indians having fallen asleep beside their smouldering camp- 
fires — the rescuers would rush in, and there would be whoops and 
shrieks, and the taking of scalps, and a happy return. Or some settle- 
ment would be shut up in a fort besieged. Days would pass. The 
only water was a spring outside the walls, and around this the enemy 
skulked in the corn and grass. But the warriors must not perish 
of thirst. So, with a prayer, a tear, a final embrace, the little women 
marched out through the gates to the spring, in the very teeth of death, 
and brought back water in their tin dinner-buckets. 

Or, when the boys would become men with contests of running, 
and pitching quoits, and wrestling, the girls would play wives and have 
a quilting in a house of green alder-bushes, or be capped and wrinkled 
grandmothers sitting beside imaginary spinning-wheels and smoking 
imaginary pipes. 

Sometimes it was not Indian warfare, but civil strife. For one 
morning as many as three Daniel Boones appeared on the playground 
at the same moment; and at once there was a fierce battle to ascertain 
which was the genuine Daniel. This being decided, the spurious 
Daniels submitted to be the one Simon Kenton, the other General 
George Rogers Clark. 

This was to be a great day for what he called his class in history. 
Thirteen years before, and forty miles away, had occurred the most 
dreadful of all the battles, — the disaster of the Blue Licks ; and in 
town were many mothers who yet wept for sons, widows who yet 
dreamed of young husbands, fallen that beautiful August day beneath 
the oaks and the cedars, or floating down the red-dyed river. 

It was this that he had promised to tell them of at noon ; and a 
little after twelve o’clock he was standing with them on the bank of 
the Town Fork, in order to give vividness to his description. This 
stream flows unseen beneath the streets of the city now and with scarce 
current enough to wash out its grimy channels ; but then it flashed 
broad and clear through the long valley which formed the town common, 
— a valley of scattered houses with orchards and corn-fields and patches 
of cane. 

A fine poetic picture he formed as he stood there amid their eager 
upturned faces, bareheaded under the cool brilliant sky of May, and 
reciting to them, as a prose minstrel of the wilderness, the deeds of 
their fathers. 

This Town Fork of the Elkhorn, he said, must represent the Lick- 
ing River. On that side were the Indians ; on this, the pioneers, a 
crowd of foot and horse. There stretched the ridge of rocks, made 
bare by the stamping of the buffalo ; here was the clay they licked for 
salt. ,In that direction headed the two ravines in which Boone had 
feared an ambuscade. And, thus variously having made ready for 
battle, and looking down for a moment into the eyes of a freckly impetu- 
ous little soul who was the Hotspur of the playground, he repeated the 
cry of McGary, which had been the signal for attack : 


JOHN GRAF. 


659 


u Let all who are not cowards follow me !” 

Here he had paused and with uplifted finger was warning them that 
from this tragedy of their fathers they could learn a lesson which ought 
to last them all their lives, — never to be over-hasty or over-confident, 
never to go forward without knowing the ground you are to tread, or 
throw yourself into a conflict without learning the nature of the enemy, 
— he was doing this, and at the same time thinking that before he slept 
that night he would be happy in the declaration of his love, when a 
child came skipping joyously across the common, and, pushing her way 
up to him through the circle of his listeners, handed him a note. He 
opened it, and in an instant the great battle, hills, river, horse, rider, 
shrieks, groans, all vanished as silently as a puff of white smoke from 
a distant cannon. 

For a while he stood motionless, with his eye fixed upon the paper, 
so absorbed as not to note the silence that had fallen upon the throng 
around him. At length, merely saying, in a kind voice, “ I will tell 
you the rest some other day : I must go now,” he walked rapidly 
across the common in the direction from which the little messenger had 
come. 

A few minutes later he stood at the door of Father Poythress, the 
Methodist minister, asking for Amy. But she and Kitty had ridden 
away and would not return till night. So, leaving careful word that 
he would come to see her then, he went to his school-room and sat 
waiting for the afternoon duties to begin. 

In the note she had broken her engagement with him for the party, 
giving no reasons. At first he had feared she might be ill ; but, having 
been now set right, he felt no further concern on that point. He was 
not a party-loving man himself. If she did not go, he would not ; and 
it was in exact accord with his own preference that they would pass 
the evening together alone. As for her breaking the engagement in a 
manner so mysterious, he argued that she had her own reason. He could 
honor it, or honor any other demand that she might ever have to make 
on his confidence. 

Nevertheless, there remained a sense of uneasiness, so that he grew 
displeased with himself that he should reveal any disposition to be petty 
with her and exacting. . During the afternoon he was drawn out of 
himself by his duties ; and when at last there came release from these, 
one thought took immediate possession of his whole nature : in a few 
hours he was to ask her to be his wife. 

The exuberance of high spirits which agitated him at rising had 
passed with the passing of the day ; and as he now closed the school- 
house door behind him, and, stepping out upon the open square, strode 
away under the long shadows of the few forest trees that still stood in 
the heart of the town, his mood was grave, and in his heart he knew 
not what throb of exalted sadness caused him to shrink from the 
boisterous life of the street and turn his face to nature. 

Not far from the town there was a deep woods still untouched by 
civilization ; and toward this he bent his footsteps. Penetrating to its 
heart, he came upon an open green knoll sloping toward the west, — a 
favorite spot ; and here he spent the last hours of the day and of the 


660 


JOHN GRAY. 


early twilight, preparing himself for the coming interview and trying 
to realize the solemn meaning of these last hours to him. 

They were a farewell and a beginning. A farewell to his boyhood 
and his youth, — in a sense a farewell to himself. Never again was he 
to be merely one soul in his passage through the world, coming none 
knew whence, going none knew whither, but beside him henceforth was 
to journey another soul, the two having one path, one aim, one insepa- 
rable existence. With this soul all that had thus far been his own was 
now to be divided ; from that soul he was to receive back all that he 
gave, — the same, and yet how different : bond for bond, heart for heart, 
duty for duty, life for life. 

His betrothal ! For years he had worshipped toward this height. 
He looked upon it as the supreme shrine of his soul, set on a white 
mountain-peak; and he felt that he must pass upward to it over a 
pathway of thoughts as- pure as a fresh fall of snow. 

With a kind of stem exultant joy he thought that at last the time 
had come when he could drop from his character its barriers and dis- 
guises and reveal himself to her as he was. How much more she could 
love him then, having come to understand him in his real nature ! 
Their association had always been more trivial than he could have 
wished. They had seemed to play at each other only before the drop- 
curtains of their natures and from confronting stages. But, just as he 
had never done himself justice, so he was sure that behind her pretty 
childish talk and pouting coquetries there were corresponding depths 
of noble character to be discovered. Thus, he had always loved her 
best, not for what he saw in her, but for what he believed remained 
unseen ; and he had valued her most, not for what she was, but for 
what in time he fancied she would become. And now he did not doubt 
that, meeting him on the high level of a new sacred union, she would 
come forth the real woman in sympathetic companionship. 

A complete tenderness overcame him with this vision of her ; a look 
of all-but religious reverence for her filled his eyes. The last rays of 
the sun struck the summit of the green knoll on wdiich he was lying. 
The sunset was one of unsurpassed softness and repose, with depth after 
depth opening inward, as though to the heart of the infinite love. The 
boughs of the trees over his head were hung, with blossoms. There 
were blue and white flowers at his feet. 

“ I have ended the first season of my life !” he cried : “ winter lies 
behind me. I am about to pass into the second : it is my spring. What 
are flowers but nature’s declaration of love ! My heart, too, has burst 
into bloom ; and, now that it is open, like them it can never, never 
close again.” 

Thus lifted up for his meeting with her, he could not bear the 
thought, as he walked back to town, that he should have to speak first 
with any other human being. Ordinary conversation would jar on him, 
a rude coarse word on the street defile him. Fortunately/he reached 
his room unmolested ; and, there having carefully but without vanity 
dressed himself in his best, he took his way to the house of Father 
Poythress. 

There were some minutes of waiting. More than once he heard in 


JOHN GRAY. 


661 


another room the sounds of smothered laughter and of two voices, — 
one in appeal, one in refusal ; then there was laughter again ; and then 
at last Amy slowly entered the room, holding Kitty Poythress by the 
hand. 

All day she had been looking for her lost bundle, riding to different 
homesteads in the country, inquiring at others in town. She had come 
home at dark with the last hope that it might have been returned 
during her absence. 

Now she was tired, worried over the loss of her things, disappointed 
that she could not go to the party of which she had dreamed for weeks. 
Her beautiful little head was wearing its heaviest crown of thorns, com- 
posed of deep-piercing sorrows and griefs. She did not wish to see 
any one, least of all John Gray, with whom she had broken her engage- 
ment, and who no doubt had come to know the reason. But if she told 
him her reason it would only make matters worse; for he would say, 
“Can’t you wear another dress? What makes the difference?” and 
look at her in the grave, kind, patient, rather pitying way in which he 
would look at one of his school-children who had misspelled a word of 
one syllable. In the bottom of her heart she felt that he in the bottom 
of his was always bearing with her and making allowances for her, as for 
a child who would learn better by and by. She secretly resented this, 
since it wounded her vanity to be made to feel that she was not per- 
fect ; and certainly to-night she was in no mood to have her troubles 
smiled over and herself magnanimously pardoned for being justifiably 
wretched. 

Therefore, as she advanced slowly into the room, holding Kitty by 
the hand, her manner was listless, petulant, and resentful. 

She gave him one of her beautiful little hands, pouted, smiled, 
dropped on a sofa by Kitty’s side, strengthened her hold on Kitty’s 
hand, and asked Kitty whether she did not feel tired. 

“ We are both so tired,” she then said to Gray, with the air of being 
willing at least to include him in the conversation. “And William 
Penn is so broken down, and so hungry, and I am so afraid he will 
starve to-night at the tavern stable. I wish, as you go home, you 
would stop by there and tell them to give him as much as he can eat. 
He is so unhappy when he is hungry !” 

Gray muttered rather meekly that he would go with pleasure. 

“You know we’ve been riding nearly all day, there were so many 
places to go to. How many miles have we travelled, Kitty ? Of course 
Kitty couldn’t count exactly,” she continued, ignoring Kitty’s smothered 
laugh, “because there are no mile-posts in Kentucky. Would you 
rather ride with mile-posts or without mile-posts?” This she asked in 
the manner in which a charming kitten might inquire of a grown-up 
cat whether it loved sunshine. 

He sat looking steadily at her this time without replying, and the 
silence became awkward. 

“ I suppose you want to know why I broke my engagement with 
you,” she cut in, with a hard voice ; “ but I don’t think you ought 
to ask. I think you ought to accept my reason without wanting to* 
know it.” 


662 


JOHN GRAY. 


“ I do accept it. I had never meant to ask,” he answered, speaking 
quickly but quietly, like a person who recalls some trifle that had been 
forgotten. 

u Oh, don’t be too indifferent,” she cried, with sarcastic humor. “ It 
would not be complimentary. You ought to be very much disap- 
pointed. You ought to want to know my reason, but you ought not to 
ask what it is.” 

Then again he sat looking at her in silence. 

u And you really don’t care to know why I broke my engagement ? 
You really don’t?” 

“ Not unless you should wish to tell me.” 

“ It is a very serious reason : isn’t it, Kitty ?” 

“ That I had never doubted.” 

“It might seem very amusing to you.” 

“ It could scarcely be both.” 

“Yes, it is; it is both. I’ll tell you why I am not going with 
you : I have lost my reason for going.” And she and Kitty exchanged 
a look of intelligent amusement. He felt only that he was being in- 
credibly trifled with, and sought to change the subject. A few minutes 
later Kitty tried to leave the room ; but Amy tightened her clasp and 
gave Kitty the threatening glance of one who holds another to a 
promise. It was impossible not to divine between them the kind of 
understanding that any man finds it hard to forgive; but he continued 
to talk to both for some minutes longer. Then again, and more openly, 
Kitty endeavored to make her escape ; again, and more openly, she 
was withheld. 

. At once ho rose to go, unruffled, polite, even with an awkward 
attempt at a sally of humor in his leave-taking. But once out of 
doors he fell quickly to work upon making out a case in her favor. A 
low, vague, ominous, terrible ground-swell of anger in his mind must 
instantly be quieted. 

She had not known why he came that evening : how could she 
know? To her it was simply an ordinary call at an unfortunate hour; 
for she was tired, — he could see that, — and worried, — he could see that 
also. And he himself was responsible for the failure of the evening. 
For had he ever been so solemn, so unpliant, so implacably in earnest? 
What wonder if she had dreaded to be left alone with him ? Thus he 
reasoned until he had wrought out in his own conscience her complete 
justification. And, having wrought it out, he sternly dismissed the 
subject. 

But who at any time sounds the lowest depths of our mysterious 
human nature, so calm on the surface, so tempest-tossed at the bottom ? 
What power is it in the mind that rejects the processes of its own best 
powers? After he restored her to stainless supremacy over his imagi- 
nation, that low, vague, ominous ground-swell of angry disappoint- 
ment within him would not be quieted. Never before had he ap- 
proached her with such lofty demands ; never before had his failure 
been so overwhelming. He was not a sentimentalist. His mood of 
the night preceding, when he had lain for hours in luxurious fondling 
of his own hidden ideals, — his mood of that afternoon in the heart of 


JOHN GRAY. 


663 


the woods, when he had believed the hour of his betrothal near and had 
become a child transported with joy, — these were solitary experiences 
in the development of a nature essentially practical and self-controlled ; 
and as he now sat in his room, thoughtful, critical of his conduct, and 
sensible of his failure, he said that never again could such a betrayal of 
himself occur. In a maoment of unreckoning confidence he had called 
his heart a flower, which, having burst into bloom, could never close 
again ; but it may be doubted whether that night this flower did not 
close up as though its petals were so many lids of iron. A nature 
proud and self-respecting will never show more of itself to others than 
others show that they can appreciate. If at any time, misled by vague 
sights and sounds outside, a shy hand appears at a window of the 
inmost citadel of being and scatters pearls to those below, when it is 
discovered that those below are swine the hand will be quickly drawn 
in and the window closed. 

But it was with opposing circumstances that Gray loved most to 
battle. That was the whole meaning of his past. When, therefore, 
he fell asleep — and he fell asleep very soon— it was with a fiercer reso- 
lution to spend the next evening with Amy and make her an offer of 
his hand. If the breaking of her engagement with him and her later 
unwillingness to be left alone with him meant anything, then he would 
know to the last merciless degree what that meaning was. 

And thus ended in bitter disappointment the day which was to 
have been that of his betrothal. By a confusion of the ideas which 
had agitated him during the foregoing hours, through his dreams ran 
a conflict : she stood on one side of a river, with ambuscades in the 
forest behind her ; on the other he stood with his school-children ; she 
beckoned to him ; and he was trying to cross to her, ever repeating the 
words of McGary at the dreadful battle of the Blue Licks : 

“ Let all who are not cowards follow me !” 


IV. 


EDITORIAL SECRETS. 

The next night fell cool and sweet from the flashing skies. It was 
the evening of the party at the home of General James Wilkinson, 
who had just returned from a trip to New Orleans. The occasion was 
extraordinary, and invitations had been sent to most of the prominent 
and distinguished families of the town. 

Eight o'clock came. Near Gray’s school-house on the open square 
stood another log house, — the editorial rooms of the Kentucky Pioneer. 
The front room was now closed and dark ; but light issued through a 
calico curtain drawn before a window of the back-room and from 
beneath the crack of the door. 

In one corner of this editorial room, which was also the printing- 
room, stood a worn hand-press with two dog-skin inking-balls. Be- 
tween the logs of the wall near another corner a horizontal iron bar 
had been driven, and from the end of this bar hung a saucer-shaped 
iron lamp filled with bear-oil. Out of this oil stuck the end of a cotton 


664 


JOHN GRAY. 


rag for a wick ; which, being set on fire, filled the room with a strong 
smell and a feeble, murky, flickering light. Under the lamp stood a 
plain oak slab on two pairs of cross-legs ; and on the slab were papers 
and letters, a black ink-horn, some leaves of native tobacco, and a 
large gray-horn drinking-cup, — empty. Under the table lay an empty 
bottle. 

In a rough chair before this drinking-cup sat Stafford, editor of the 
Kentucky Pioneer , smoking a long tomahawk-pipe. His head was 
tilted backward, his eyes followed the flight of smoke upward, and a 
smile suffused his face, — the smile of a man pleased with what he is 
and with something he is about to do. Once his smile grew broader, 
and his diaphragm shook silently with an earthquake of subterranean 
amusement. 

That he expected to be at the party might have been inferred from 
his dress, which was miscellaneously magnificent : a worn blue broad- 
cloth coat with yellow gilt buttons; a swan’s-down vest with broad 
stripes of red and white ; a pair of dove-colored corded-velvet panta- 
loons with three large yellow buttons on the hips ; and a neckcloth of 
fine white cambric. 

The smell of the burning oil, of spirits, of tobacco, did not dis- 
guise the fact that he was heavily perfumed. His figure was thickset, 
strong, cumbrous, his hair black and very beautiful, his eyes black, 
bold, vivacious, untrustworthy, and now a little inflamed. There was 
a deep vertical mark down the middle of his forehead, and his lips 
were thick and red. His hands also were thick and soft, and the nails 
not irreproachable. 

He had just risen to snuff the wick in the lamp overhead, when 
there came a knock on the door ; and, to Stafford’s surprise and dis- 
pleasure, — for he thought he had locked it, — there entered without 
waiting to be invited a low, broad-chested, barefooted, blond young 
fellow, his brown-tow breeches, rolled up to his knees, showing a pair 
of fine white calves ; a clean shirt, thrown open at the neck and rolled 
up to the elbows, displaying a noble pair of arms ; a ruddy shine on 
his quiet face; a drenched look about his short, thick, whitish hair, and 
a comforting smell of soap emanating from his entire person. 

Seeing him, Stafford looked less displeased ; but, keeping his seat 
and merely taking the pipe from his lips, he said, with an air of 
facetious sarcasm, “ I would have invited you to come in, Peter, but 
I see you have not stood on ceremony.” 

“ Well,” said Peter, stoutly, taking a short cob-pipe from his mouth, 
“ I didn’t suppose you would object to my coming in and handing you 
this.” And, walking forward, he clapped down on the oak slab a 
round handful of shillings and pence. “ Count it, and see if it’s all 
there.” 

“ What’s this for?” 

Stafford looked at the money with sparkling eyes, but spoke in a 
tone of wounded astonishment. 

“ What do you suppose it’s for ?” 

"Well, you have had an advertisement running in the paper for 
some time,” admitted Stafford, with reluctance. 


JOHN GRAY. 


665 


a That’s what it’s for, then ! And, what’s more, I’ve got the 
money to pay for a better one, whenever you’ll write it.” 

The words seemed to have their effect. 

“ Sit down, sit down, sit down !” Stafford jumped from his chair, 
hurried across the room, — a little unsteadily, — emptied a pile of things 
on the floor, and dragged back a heavy oak stool. “ Sit down. And, 
Peter?” he added, inquiringly, tapping his empty drinking-cup. 

“ Go ahead,” replied Peter, with an air of indifference. “ Don’t let 
me interfere.” 

Stafford drew a key from his pocket and shook it under Peter’s 
nose. Then he went to the door and locked it ; then across the room 
to a dark cupboard ; and, after some minutes of fumbling and two or 
three trips back and forth, he placed on the table a bottle of fourth- 
proof French brandy, a bottle of Jamaica rum, a bottle of Holland 
gin, a bottle of cherry bounce, a bottle of Martinique cordial, a bottle 
of Madeira wine, one of port, and one of sherry, a bottle of cider, and 
another drinking-cup. Then he sat down and faced Peter in silence. 

“ That’s more than I want,” said Peter, with a nod at the display. 

“ All for advertisements !” said Stafford, waving his hand trium- 
phantly over the collection ; and then, scraping Peter’s money off the 
table, he let it jingle carelessly piece by piece into his pocket, accurately 
counting it nevertheless between his fingers and thumb. “ All for ad- 
vertisements! Two or three of these dealers have been running bills 
up on me ; and to-day I stepped in and told them I’d submit to be 
paid in merchandise. And here’s the merchandise! What brand of 
merchandise will you take?” 

“ We had better take what you have been taking,” replied Peter, 
with a look of warning at Stafford’s flushed face. 

u Just as you please, Peter. It’s all good enough for me.” 

He left the bottle of French brandy, carrying the other bottles back 
to the cupboard, except one. “ This too, Peter,” he pleaded, persua- 
sively, setting the Jamaica rum beside the brandy. 

“ They don’t go together,” objected Peter. 

“ They go together if you make them go together. Now^ then, say 
when enough.” And he began to fill the cups. 

“ Hold on !” cried Peter, laying a provident hand on Stafford’s arm. 
“ Hold on ! My advertisement first !” 

“ Just as you please.” 

“ About twice as long as the other one,” instructed Peter, scratching 
his head. 

“ Very well ; about twice as long as the other one.” Stafford set 
the bottle down, took up a goose-quill, and drew a sheet of paper before 
him. 

u My business is increasing,” prompted Peter still further. 

Stafford made a note on the margin of the sheet. 

“All right; your business is increasing. Now wait a minute.” 

“ How will this do to start with ?” he asked, after writing rapidly 
awhile : 

“ ‘ Mr. Peter Springle continues to carry on the blacksmith business 
on Main Street in Lexington, near the public square, and opposite the 


666 


JOHN GRAY. 


Sign of the Indian Queen. It is supposed that Mr. Springle cannot be 
rivalled in horseshoeing. He keeps on hand a constant supply of axes, 
chains, and hoes, which he will sell at prices usually asked ’ ” 

“ Stop,” interrupted Peter, whose nostrils had sniffed a strange 
agreeable odor of personal praise in the opening lines. “ You might 
say something more about me, before you bring in the axes.” 

“ Just as you please : we’ll say something more about you.” And 
after a minute of indecision Stafford read as follows : 

“ ‘ Mr. Peter Springle executes his work with satisfaction and de- 
spatch ; his work is second to none in Kentucky ; no one surpasses him ; 
he is a noted horseshoer ; he does nothing but shoe horses.’ ” 

“ That sounds more like it,” admitted Peter, candidly. 

“ Let’s combine business with pleasure, however,” said Stafford, 
laying down the quill and reaching for the bottle. “ Now, then,” re- 
sumed he, with fresh interest, after they had touched cups and drained 
them. “ Is that enough about you ?” 

“ Oh, if that’s all you can say /” muttered Peter, with surly dis- 
appointment. 

“ Not at all ! The subject is hard to exhaust. 

“ ‘ Mr. Springle devotes himself entirely to the shoeing of fine 
horses ;fine horses are often injured by neglect in shoeing ; Mr. Springle 
does not injure fine horses, but shoes them all around with new shoes at 
one dollar for each horse.’ How is that ?” 

“ Pretty good,” nodded Peter. 

u Is that enough about you f” 

“ Oh, if that’s all you can say /” 

“ By no means !” 

There was a hidden flash in Stafford’s eyes, and he drew his thick 
red lips in against his teeth. After some minutes he read again : 

“ ‘ Mr. Springle is the most illustrious blacksmith that ever left 
New Jersey ’ ” 

“ Or that ever lived in New Jersey,” interrupted Peter, strengthen- 
ing the position. 

“ ‘ Or that ever will live in New Jersey ! The father of Mr. 
Springle had the honor of shoeing Washington’s favorite horse just be- 
fore the battle of Trenton, or otherwise the general might never have 
led the Americans to victory. Mr. Springle, then a small but highly 
intelligent lad, closely watched his father during this performance, and 
derived great profit from the experience. Afterwards he had the good 
fortune to witness the battle of Trenton from a floating cake of ice ex- 
actly the shape of a horseshoe.’ How is that ?” 

The brilliancy of this rocket, rising suddenly out of the darkness of 
his past, so dazzled Peter that he sat temporarily blinded. Then he 
rubbed his elbows slowly in the palms of his hands, and said, care- 
fully and gravely, — 

“ Now bring in about the axes.” 

. Stafford rose and pinched the cotton wick. Reseating himself, he 
seized the bottle and poured out more liquor, tossing off his own cup at 
a draught. His spirits were rising. He laughed to himself almost 
constantly. 


JOHN GRAY. 


667 


“ Peter,” he suddenly said, squaring himself and hitching his chair 
confidentially, “ Pm going to let you into a secret.” 

“ I don’t want to know any secrets,” replied Peter. u I don’t want 
to know anything I can’t tell.” 

“ You don’t know any secrets? You don’t know that last week 
Horatio Turpin sold a ten-dollar horse in front of your shop for a hun- 
dred because he had ” 

“ Oh, I know some horse secrets,” admitted Peter, carelessly. 

“ Exactly ! It’s a horse secret I’m going to tell you.” 

He made an awkward stumble as he crossed the room ; and he 
fumbled awkwardly in a dark corner at a frame-work of pigeon-holes 
nailed against the wall. But finally he came back with two pieces of 
writing-paper, which he spread out on the slab. Then he reached for 
the brandy with a cold formal bow to Peter, who accepted the attention 
with equal coolness. 

“ Now for the secret ! Here, Peter, is an advertisement that has 
been left here to be inserted in the next paper: ‘Lost, on Tuesday 
evening, on the road between Frankfort and Lexington, a bundle of 
clothes tied up in a blue-and-white checked cotton handkerchief, and 
containing one white muslin dress, a pale-blue silk coat, two thin white 
muslin handkerchiefs, one pair long kid gloves, — straw-color, — one pair 
white kid shoes, two cambric handkerchiefs, and some other things, 
not distinctly remembered. Whoever will deliver said clothes to the 
printer, or give information so that they can be got, will be liberally 
rewarded on application to him.’ 

“ And here, Peter, is another advertisement to be inserted at the 
same time : ‘ Found, on Tuesday evening, on the road between Lexing- 
ton and Frankfort, a bundle of clothes tied in a handkerchief. In the 
bundle were noticed some gloves and handkerchiefs and shoes, a green 
silk apron, and some other things which the finder wishes to say that 
he did not separately examine. The owner can recover property by 
calling on the printer.’ 

“ Now for the secret !” He pushed the papers away from him and 
wheeled on his listener. He was losing what little control over himself 
he had hitherto kept. His eyes flashed with an expression of humorous 
revenge. He threw his head back and laughed loud and slapped Peter 
familiarly on the knee. Then suddenly he laid his hand on the Jamaica 
rum. 

“ Rum,” muttered Peter, with admirable brevity, and held out his 
horn cup. 

“Now, Peter,” said Stafford a minute later, “ set your cup on the 
table and listen. 

“ Yesterday morning who should slip around here but that high 
and mighty little mistress, Amy Falconer. But I hardly believed my 
eyes ! No dimplings and poutings, no setting her head on one side, no 
mischief, no airs, no vanity, no smiles, no anything but red swollen 
eyes, a puckered mouth, fear, vexation, disappointment, despair ! A 
more lost and ruined soul may I never behold ! And then, in such a 
voice, she begins to tell such a tale : how, oh, Mr. Stafford, she had 
such a secret to tell me, and wouldn’t I do something to help her ! 


668 


JOHN GRAY. 


How, coming to town the day before, she had, contrary to the express 
orders and without the knowledge of her aunt, made her old black 
mammy tie her party clothes up in a blue-and-white checked handker- 
chief and then tie this to a ring in the side-saddle. Weep, Peter, weep ! 
How on the way this bundle did come untied and fall unnoticed to the 
road ; how, when she reached town and missed it, she had sent some 
one back along the road, but in vain, somebody else having come along 
in the mean time and picked it up ! Weep, Peter, weep ! How she 
had come to see me to inquire whether any one had left the clothes with 
me to be advertised ; or whether I wouldn’t put an advertisement in the 
next issue of the paper ; and whether, if they were left at my office 
before Thursday evening, I wouldn’t send them to her at once. For 
oh ! oh ! oh ! she couldn’t go to the party ! and they were so beautiful ! 
and they had cost so much ! and she’d have to break her engagement! 
and her aunt and her uncle ! and oh, my ! oh, my ! Peter, have you no 
tears for woman’s sorrow ?” 

“ Ahem !” said Peter, dryly, but with a good deal of moisture in 
his eyes. 

“ Well, she hadn’t more than gone before who should come in here 
but a boy bringing this same bundle of clothes with a note from John 
Gray, saying that he had found them in the public road yesterday, and 
asking me to send them at once to the owner, if I should hear who she 
was ; if not, to advertise them.” 

“ That’s no secret,” said Peter, with contempt. 

“ Noiv for the secret ! I might have sent that bundle right around 
to my Mistress Amy, and that would have been the end of it. But, 
Peter, let me tell you one thing : when an editor has anything against 
a man, he always forgives him, but — he gets even with him first. Love 
your enemies, Peter, but punish them first. Then it comes easier. 
Then it is not only divine : then it is human. Ha, ha, ha ! 

“ Now, Peter, I’ve got no favors to ask of Mistress Amy Falconer, 
and I’ve none to grant. I don’t forget the past as easily as she does.” 
The result of Stafford’s precipitate suit was known to the town. “ And 
as for this Pennsylvania school-teacher, — this red-headed Scotch-Irish- 
man ” 

“ Hold on !” cried Peter, quickly. “ Not a word against him ! I 
won’t like it.” 

“ We won’t like it, won’t we ? Oh, no ! We won’t like it ! We 
are getting to be such meek and pious New Jersey Lutherans in these 
days of the Kentucky millennium. We are getting to be such two- 
cheeked saints in the days of the Cherokees. We are getting to be 
such accomplished blacksmiths and such humble mumblepegs ! How 
many of the Psalms of David are you the author of? Oh, no ! Not 
a word against him ! Well, I can tell you, my aged paragon of infan- 
tile virtue, that not two days ago I heard this same Pennsylvania wood- 
pecker, this long-legged, black-legged snipe, this soft sly cuckoo, this 
twilight whippoorwill of a pedagogue,— I heard him tell four men that 
Jerry Neave was the best blacksmith in town ! Oh, no ! Not a word 
against him . We won’t like it.” 

Poor Peter! The best of his faculties had already sunk beneath 


JOHN GRAY. 


669 


the level of the deluge which was now rising rapidly and threatened 
to become universal. Still, he merely gave several threatening sidewise 
shakes of the head, and his neck seemed to swell a little. 

“ And if you have to stand this from him, think of what I — a Vir- 
ginia gentleman ! I tell you, Peter, when a man of my family con- 
nections ! But I don’t want to go too far. I only want to have 

a little fun out of him.” 

“ Yes; let’s have a little fun out of him,” assented Peter, beguiled. 

“ That’s just what I was going on to tell you. When he sent the 
bundle of clothes here yesterday morning, I laid it away in that closet. 
There it will stay, said I to myself, and Mistress Amy and her school- 
master and the party may go to the devil !” 

From this point Stafford so fell under the influence of his cups that 
his further confidences were hard to follow through their wanderings. 
Being of an affectionate nature, he several times tenderly took Peter’s 
hand, which Peter several times withdrew. 

The idea of keeping the bundle hidden at his office until after the 
party was one of those crude pranks that occur naturally to a certain 
order of mind, and that were peculiarly characteristic of that place and 
time. 

Teasing of a sentimental sort is always a common resource in vil- 
lage humor ; and in the little frontier town of Lexington at that period 
young men were many, young women few, and rivalries bitter and 
keen ; so that the least event in the career of a beautiful girl became 
for weeks the nightly talk at the riotous inns and taverns. 

And then Stafford was one of those men — if men they may be 
called — who love to figure as the hero of a small annoyance. Manly 
tragedy was beyond him. The fibre of his nature was too weak and 
flimsy to stand the strain of any great passion, good or bad. But had 
he been forced to become a member of a circus-company and been 
left free to choose his part, he would have chosen to be ring-master, 
for the satisfaction of standing at the small centre of things and cracking 
a long whip at every feature of the passing show, — cracking it play- 
fully, but now and then a little cruelly, as if by accident. And if 
he could not have been ring-master, he would have liked to be the clown, 
for the sake of having the greatest number of people on his side and 
of raising the laugh at everybody else. 

To have seen John Gray annoyed for a day, — that would have been 
a week’s joy. To have caused Gray any final disappointment in his 
love-affair, — that would have furnished him satisfaction for the rest of 
his life. 

Therefore, the bundle having been lost on Tuesday, and been sent 
to his office by Gray on Wednesday, his plan was to keep it until Fri- 
day, the day after the party. But on Thursday, with much inward 
enjoyment of his scheme, there suddenly came to him the idea of 
making it still better, and he turned his steps to a quarter of the town 
where Joseph Holden was shingling a new house. 

“ Halloo, Joseph !” he said, as though stopping casually. “ Don’t 
work too hard to-day, or you won t be able to dance all night. 


670 


JOHN GRAY. 


“I can do both/’ Joseph had called down to him, meantime send- 
ing a nail home at a blow. 

“ And sing all day in the bargain. You are a strange fellow, 
Joseph ! Another man is going with the woman you love, but you are 
as happy as though it were yourself.” 

Joseph kept steadily on at his work. 

“ There’s one girl that neither of you will dance with to-night.” 

“ Who’s that?” asked Joseph, in a tone which showed his indiffer- 
ence. 

“ Amy Falconer. She has broken her engagement with Gray, and 
is not going to the party.” 

The hammer dropped from Joseph’s hand to the ground, and he sat 
staring down at nothing. Then he jumped off the roof of the house as 
lightly as though it had been five feet instead of fifteen, picked up his 
hammer, and came close up to Stafford. 

“ What do you mean ? Have they quarrelled ?” In his look and 
tone there was the revelation of a love that had no hope except through 
the failure of a rival. 

“ Who knows? She has broken her engagement with him. She 
is not going to the party with him. And she will be by herself all the 
evening at the house of Kitty Poythress, who is going with Horatio 
Turpin.” 

“ It is none of my affair,” remarked Holden, after a moment of 
thought, and, climbing to the roof, he went on with his work without 
taking any further notice of Stafford, who moved away. 

“ Our young carpenter is as wise as a dove and as cunning as a 
squab.” And he laughed to himself. “ He is as hard to drive into a 
little scheme as a tenpenny nail through a thin shingle. There are only 
two things that I’d stake my life on : that the sun will set to-night, and 
that when it does he’ll go to spend the evening with Amy Falconer.” 

It turned out as he had expected. A little after seven o’clock that 
evening, Stafford, who was watching, saw Joseph enter the yard of 
Father Poythress. At once he hurried to his office, and gave the 
bundle to his negro boy with a note stating that he hoped it would be 
received in time for her to go to the party. He himself followed the 
boy under cover of darkness some yards behind. 

The Poythress homestead had a front veranda in the old Maryland 
style, and there was shrubbery in the yard. As the boy stepped upon 
the veranda, where the voices of Joseph and Amy could be distinguished 
talking, Stafford waited behind these bushes. He heard the girl’s cry 
of surprise and delight as she read his note by the light from inside the 
house, and as she beheld her lost treasure ; he heard her say, joyously, 
‘‘You can go with me to the party, Joseph, and when we get there we 
can explain everything to John, and he can come home with me he 
heard Joseph repeat her very words, and then he stole out of the yard, 
— satisfied ; for John Gray had told him that he was not going, and 
John Gray would know nothing of all this till the next day, when the 
whole town would be laughing at him. 

During the forenoon Gray had indeed said to Joseph that he ex- 
pected to drop in late at the party out of respect to his host and hostess, 


JOHN GRAY. 


671 


— thinking to himself that this would be after his interview with Amy ; 
and as he stepped into the school-room in the afternoon he had said the 
same thing to Stafford, who stopped to ask him. But Stafford had re- 
plied that his post-rider left with the mail at four o’clock the next 
morning, and that if Gray had letters to send they must be ready. Gray 
had letters of the utmost importance to write, — to his lawyer, for one, 
regarding the late decision in the will case, and to the secretary of the 
Democratic Club in Philadelphia touching the revival of activity in the 
Clubs throughout the country on account of the expected treaty with 
England : so that he had said to Stafford that, this being the case, he 
would not have time to go to the party at all, but would have his mail 
ready by twelve o’clock, — thinking again to himself that he would 
write his letters after his interview with Amy. 

Thus in more than one way Stafford’s cup of pleasure overflowed 
that evening. He did not foresee the possible consequences of his 
pleasantry. He was not a man to realize that nothing may be more 
serious than a coarse unreckoning jest. 

It was now about eleven o’clock. The forgotten wick of the lamp 
was charred and smoking, the bottle of rum was far from being full, 
and in the flickering light of the room the heads and bodies of Stafford 
and Peter, drawn close to the oak table and close to each other, bobbed 
and swayed vaguely, like two enormous sandpipers about to take flight 
for a safer shore. 

For an hour Stafford had been trying to get himself started to the 
party ; but he was never to reach there. He had just taken his last 
cup, and sat glaring at Peter in a stubborn incompetence of ideas, until 
his vacant eye noticed the smoke with which the room was filling. 
Then he suddenly called out, in a key of high comedy, — 

“ Peter, you’ve got a halo. Hail, St. Peter !” 

“ I haven’t got a halo !” swore Peter, who didn’t know what a halo 
was, but didn’t fancy having one, and, besides, was no admirer of St. 
Peter. 

“ I decline to quarrel with you, Peter, about anything so light as a 
halo,” observed Stafford, with some disgust. 

All at once he leaned over and let his head rest on Peter’s shoulder. 

“ Peter,” he murmured, caressing one of the young blacksmith’s 
bare arms, “you have never known the great Passion. You have 
never felt what the great Sappho sings of. You don’t even know the 
divine Sappho.” 

“ Don’t know her !” cried Peter, cruelly stung by the accusation. 
“Haven’t I got to shoe her at eleven o’clock to-morrow morning? — 
John Barnett’s yellow sorrel, with a nick in her left ear, a swelling in 
her groin, a blaze in her forehead, and a white foot ? Don’t know her !” 

Stafford slowly raised his head from Peter’s shoulder and gazed 
solemnly at him with open mouth and wondering eyes, in a last vain 
attempt to grasp the clue to this fresh misunderstanding. 

“ Who’d you say Sappho was, Peter ?” he asked, meekly. “ Who’d 
you say Sappho was?” 

“ What’d I come here for, anyhow ?” abruptly inquired Peter, 


672 


JOHN GRAY. 


who had been partly recalled to soberness by the thought of shoeing 
horses. 

“ Who’d you say Sappho was ?” repeated Stafford. “All my life 

I been thinking Sappho was a — Sappho was a But I now ask you 

candidly — I ask you to tell me who — I ask you on your word of honor 
as a gentleman — I ask you to tell me who Sappho was !” And, being 
greatly saddened by his uncertainty, two large tears rolled down his 
cheeks. 

“ And I ask you” replied Peter, no less deeply moved, “ to tell me 
candidly — I ask you to tell me on your gentleman as a word of honor 
— what I come here for.” 

“ You’re not going, Peter ! Don’t leave me !” 

Stafford threw his arms around Peter’s neck and fell on his bosom. 

“Peter, who’d you say Sappho was? Who are you? Are you 
Sappho, Peter ? Kiss me, Sappho ! Kiss me, Peter ” 

“ Kiss the devil !” cried Peter, and in a struggle to save what was 
left of his modesty he rolled backward to the floor, with Stafford in 
his arms. 

There they lay all night, — men drank recklessly and with little re- 
proach in those wild days, — and the ball which Stafford had set rolling 
sped straight on to a goal of which in his long drunken sleep he did 
not dream. 


V. 

SIR ROGER DE COVEREEY. 

Ah, if every faculty of the mind could be trained for the possible 
battles of life, as a modern nation makes every man a soldier ! At all 
times, a part of these forces will be engaged in active service ; often there 
will be need also of the army in reserve; and God knows that in the 
life of every man worth the name there are yet other conflicts, when 
the last defences of land and house and hearth have to be called out, 
and even then the full strength counts but a brave handful in comparison 
with the enemy. 

At the outset of that same day, John Gray had called out certain 
first reserves of his nature. Fighting had to be done in two parts 
of the field, — in the school-room and in his private thoughts. He 
would gladly have shirked the school ; but the one compensation he 
looked for in doing the disagreeable things of life was to do them in 
such a way that, being done, they could not fester like broken-off thorns 
in his conscience. 

All the forenoon, therefore, by an effort of faithful heroism which 
only those who have experienced it can ever understand, he crushed 
himself into that stifling prison-house of the mind where the perplexi- 
ties and toils of childhood become enormous and everything else in the 
world grows small. Morning never to be forgotten ! Up under the 
joists there was the terrible struggle of a fly in a web, — at first more 
and more violent, then ceasing in a strain so fine that the ear could scarce 
take it ; a bee came in one window, went out another ; a rat, sniffling 
greedily in its hole, crept toward a crumb under a bench, crept nearer 


JOHN GRAY. 


673 


ran back, crept nearer, seized it, and was gone; a toiling slate-pencil 
grated on its way as arduously as a wagon up a hill ; the sunshine passed 
out the front door : these were its mightiest happenings. 

At noon the oldest of the children wanted to hear about the battle, 
and he went patiently to the Town Fork and finished the story, telling 
them that the time would come — perhaps a hundred years thence — when 
the Kentuckians would assemble on the battle-field and set up a monu- 
ment to their forefathers ; that a thousand years afterwards it would still 
be known, — that tragedy of the Blue Licks. 

Then through the long afternoon without the slightest faltering, until 
at last he closed the door behind him with a sense of joyous liberty that 
seemed like madness. 

Night fell, but he would not venture early to see Amy, rather wait- 
ing until Kitty and Horatio should have gone to the party. When at 
last he laid his hand on the latch of the gate, voices reached him from 
the veranda : they were the voices of Amy and Joseph. Had his nature 
been suspicious, — that sure mark of mental infirmity, — he might have 
accused her of breaking the engagement with this meeting in view ; 
but, instead, he instantly justified them both. Had not Joseph a right 
to spend the evening with Amy if he chose, and was it any fault of 
hers that he did so ? 

But disappointment cut him keenly as he dropped the latch and 
walked away, with impatience gnawing at his heart and vague uneasi- 
ness settling like a formless depressing cloud about his mind. 

For more than an hour he strolled slowly about the dark town, — 
past his school-house, thinking that his teaching days would now soon 
be over, — past Peter's blacksmith-shop, thinking what a fresh picture 
the young fellow always made, — past Stafford's editorial room, with the 
light under the door and the pale illuminated curtain drawn across the 
window. He held himself in absolute composure. Two or three times 
he lingered before show-windows of merchandise, that had started from 
Philadelphia, gone thence to Pittsburg, thence down the Ohio in flat- 
boats to Limestone, — now Maysville, — and thence through the forest 
on pack-horses. He had some taste in snuff-boxes, being the inheritor 
of several from his Scotch and Irish ancestors ; and there were a few 
that he bent over to examine at the new silversmith’s, finding them little 
to his liking. As he passed a tavern, a group of Revolutionary officers 
were having a time of it over their pipes and memories ; and he paused 
to hear one finish a yarn of pretty strong fibre about the battle of King's 
Mountain. More than once couples went hurrying by to the party; 
and there came a moment when down a dark street he fancied that he 
heard Amy's laughter ring faintly out on the still air. 

The Poythress homestead was wrapped in silence and darkness as he 
stepped upon the veranda an hour and a half or two hours later, but 
the door was open, there was a light inside, and by means of this he 
discovered lying asleep on the threshold a half-grown lad, who was 
apprentice to the new English silversmith of the town and a lodger at 
the minister's, — the bond of acquaintanceship being the memory of John 
Wesley, who had sprinkled the lad's father in England. 

Gray laid a hand on his shoulder, and tried to break his slumber, 
Vol. XLIX.— 43 


674 


JOHN GRAY. 


which seemed to be enchanted. He opened his eyes at last, looked up 
at Gray, said, “ Nobody at home/’ and went to sleep again. More thor- 
oughly aroused, he sat up : Mr. and Mrs. Poythress had been called 
away to some sick person ; had asked him to sit up till they came back ; 
he wished they’d come; he didn’t see how he was ever to learn how to 
make watches if he couldn’t get any sleep ; and he lay down again. 

Gray shook him more forcibly. 

“ Miss Falconer is here: will you tell her I wish to see her?” 

The lad didn’t open his eyes, but said, dreamily, — 

“ She’s not here : she’s gone to the party.” 

In an instant Gray had lifted him and set him on his feet. Then 
he put his hands on his shoulders and shook him resolutely : 

“You are asleep! Wake up! You are dreaming! Wake up! 
I asked you to tell Miss Falconer I wish to see her. Miss Falconer ! 
Do you hear ?” 

The lad seized Gray by the arms and shook him with all his might. 

“ Wake up !” he cried. “ Be you a sleep-walker ? Be you a spectre ? 
I tell you she’s gone to the party. Do you hear ? She’s gone to the 
party ! Now go away, will you ? How am I ever to be a silversmith, 
if I can’t get any sleep?” And, stretching himself once more on the 
settee, he closed his eyes. 

Over his prostrate body Gray stood as rigid and motionless as a sen- 
tinel beside the dead. Then he turned straight to the home of the Wil- 
kinsons. His gait was not hurried : whatever his face may have ex- 
pressed was hidden by the darkness. He did not allow himself to think. 
The tense quietude of his mind was like that of a summer tree not one 
of whose thousands of leaves quivers along the edge, but toward which 
a tempest of great winds is rolling in the distance. 

The house was set close to the street. The windows were open ; 
long bars of light fell out upon the sidewalks : as he stepped forward 
into one of these, the fiddlers struck up “ Sir Roger De Coverley the 
company parted in long lines to the right and left, leaving a vacant 
space down the middle of the room ; and into this vacant space he saw 
Joseph lead Amy and the two begin to dance. 

She wore a white muslin dress, — a little skilful work had restored 
its freshness, — a blue-silk coat of the loveliest hue, a wide white lace 
tucker caught across her bosom with a bunch of cinnamon roses, and 
straw-colored kid gloves, reaching far up her snow-white arms. Her 
hair was coiled high on the crown of her head and airily overtopped by 
a great curiously-carved tortoise-shell comb ; and from under her dress 
peeped the white mice of her feet. The tints of her skin were like those 
of pearl and rose; her red lips parted in smiles; her eyes sparkled. 
She was radiant in beauty, — radiant with unexpected happiness and ex- 
citement ; and she moved through the curves and turns of Sir Roger 
with a hundred little airs and graces that marked the deep intoxication 
of her delight. 

He did not see her dress ; he did not recognize the garments that 
he had hung on the wall of his room ; he would not have known it had 
she worn massed on her head the gems of the East. Perhaps he did 
not even see her after the first instant of recognition : what he did see 


JOHN GRAY. 675 

and continued to see was the hard, merciless fact that she was there and 
dancing with Joseph, his friend. 

If a man should discover a rattlesnake coiled in his path some 
yards ahead, and then should deliberately get down upon his stomach 
and grovel toward it with slow contortions, — nearer, always nearer, 
until the hiss was heard, — nearer, until the flat head was drawn back- 
ward and the fangs buried in his very brow, — he could not have been 
more horribly, more miserably stung. The wound that Gray believed 
dealt him was the one in the world that could have hurt him most. 
For a minute he had the sense of being poisoned, as though an actual 
venom were coursing through his blood. There was one swift backward 
movement of his mind over the chain of forerunning events. 

“ She is a little venomous serpent !” he said aloud, with a tone of 
deep, solemn anger. “ And I have been crawling in the dust.” Then 
he walked quietly into the house. 

In another room he found his host and hostess. As he turned 
from them, the young lady who had borrowed his “ Romeo and Juliet” 
came forward on the arm of her father, to thank him for his kindness, 
and to say that she liked the balcony scene best of all, but would rather 
have been left alone in the garden with Mercutio than with any one 
else. Then she asked, looking at him with sympathetic surprise, 
whether he had himself just made a visit to Romeo’s apothecary’s. He 
crossed to where a group of elderly gentlemen were talking with much 
gayety. The central one, a man of great bearing, — indeed, one of the 
most remarkable characters that were brought together during this period 
within the town, — took and held his hand with affectionate warmth. 

u We had remarked you as you came in,” he said, in a rich voice, 
bending upon Gray a look half quizzical, half warning, “ and the sight 
had inspired me to propound a conundrum. It would be well for 
the company to take snuff before my conundrum is asked, so that if 
it is a bad one it may be sneezed at.” And he offered his snuff-box. 
“ Why is the law like a leech ? Because if applied continuously to the 
temples it abstracts from the patient too much blood. Marshall tells 
me that of late Gray has been teaching till sunset and then reading law 
till sunrise ; and to-night he comes here with his eyes blazing and his 
skin as pallid and dry as a monk’s. Take off the leeches for a good 
month, John ! If the Senate ratifies in June the treachery of Jay and 
Lord Granville, there will be more work than ever for the Democratic 
Societies in this country, and nowhere more than in Kentucky. We 
shall need you then more than the law needs you now, or than you 
need it. Save yourself for the cause of your tricolor.” 

u We shall soon put him beyond the reach of the law,” said a 
member of the Transylvania Library Committee. “ As soon as his 
school is out, we are going to send him to ask subscriptions from the 
President, the Vice-President, and others, and then on to Philadelphia 
to buy the books.” 

A shadow fell upon the face of the other speaker, and in a lowered 
tone he said, with cold emphasis, — 

u I am sorry that the citizens of this town should stoop to ask 
anything from such a man as George Washington.” 


676 


JOHN GRAY. 


A hand touched Gray’s elbow from behind. He turned and saw 
Kitty and Horatio. Kitty’s black eyes were sparkling with delight, 
and her cheeks were like red poppies. 

u Have you seen them ?” she cried. u Have you seen Amy and 
Joseph? They are in the other room. They expected to find you 
here when they came. Haven’t they told you everything? Aren’t 
you glad ? But we will lose our places !” And, with a motion to 
Horatio, she hurried toward the room where the music was heard to 
begin. 

“We are entered for this purse-race,” said Mr. Turpin, pausing a 
moment to drop his witticism confidentially into Gray’s ear. u Weight 
for age agreeable to the rules of New Market, — three mile heats, — 
best two in three. Each subscriber to pay one guinea, and every 
person that enters a horse” (here tapping himself proudly on the breast) 
“ to pay two guineas, including his subscription.” And with this Mr. 
Turpin, casting at Gray a look of technical appreciation, hurried after 
Kitty. Gallant Horatio ! He was known as one of the rising young 
turfmen of the town, having the October previous won a race on his 
b.c. Taps, by Craps, dam Draps, — the rival horse being the s.f. Mul- 
berry, by Blackberry, dam Hackberry. 

Once afterwards Gray’s glance fell on Amy and Joseph across the 
room. They were looking at him and plainly laughing at his expense, 
and the sight burnt his eyes. They beckoned gayly, but he gave no 
sign ; and in a moment they were lost behind the shifting figures of 
the company. While he was dancing, however, Joseph came up and 
whispered, — 

“ As soon as you get away, Amy wants to see you. She says come 
at once.” 

Half an hour later he came a second time and drew Gray aside 
from a group of gentlemen, speaking more seriously : 

“ Amy wants to explain how all this happened. Come at once.” 

“ Explain !” said Gray, with indifference. “ What is there to ex- 
plain ?” 

Joseph answered reproachfully : 

“ This is foolish, John ! When you know what has passed between 
Amy and me, you will not censure her. And I could not have done 
otherwise.” Despite his wish to be serious, he could not help laughing. 

But to John Gray these simple words went for the very thing that 
they did not mean. His mind had been rudely forced to a false point 
of view ; and from a false point of view the truth itself .always looks 
false. It was intolerable that Joseph should be defending to him the 
very woman whom a few hours before he had hoped to marry. 

“ There is no explanation needed from her,” he replied, with the 
same indifference. “ I think I understand her. What I do not un- 
derstand I am willing to take for granted. But you, Joseph, you owe 
me an explanation, though this is not the place to give it.” His face 
twitched with a nervous spasm, and he knotted the fingers of his large 
hands together like twisted bands of iron. 

Joseph fixed his quiet, honest eyes on Gray’s, and then, without 
speaking, turned away. 


JOHN GRAY. 


677 


Still later Gray met her while dancing, — the faint rose of her cheeks 
a shade deeper, the dazzling whiteness of her skin if possible more 
pearl-like with warmth, her gayety and happiness at their height. He 
had to touch her hand ; but he would have passed her without recog- 
nition, only with an air of injured vanity she said, — 

“ You haven’t asked me to dance to-night. You haven’t even let 
me tell you why I came with Joseph. I didn’t want you to know at 
first why I broke my engagement with you, but everybody will know 
it soon. Joseph would tell you, if I didn’t.” And, with the thought 
of her lost bundle, she danced on, smiling at him with the manner of 
one who is at peace with the whole world. 

Still, he did not show that he even heard what she said ; and al- 
though they did not directly meet again, he was made aware that a 
change had at last come over her. She was angry now. He could hear 
her laughter oftener, — laughter that was meant for his ear, — and she 
was dancing oftener with Joseph. All at once revulsion overtook him. 

“ I am playing a part by staying here !” he said, with inward shame, 
and left the house. 

After some two hours of blind wandering around the town, drawn 
back by ungovernable impulse, he passed by it again. There she was, 
unwearied and satisfied in that little world of lights and music, laughter 
and endless rhythmic motion. She really was happy, not feigning ; 
she really had no more been affected by what had happened between 
them than a wall is affected by the shadow of a filmy insect darting 
between it and a candle. 

The first air of dawn stirred the leaves of the trees overhead and 
touched his hot forehead. He walked slowly to his room, dropped 
into a chair by his open window, and sat looking absently toward the 
east. A man on horseback rode whistling by. It was Stafford’s post- 
rider, but John had forgotten to write his letters. By unseen degrees 
the east turned from pale gray to molten pearl, from pearl to glowing 
crimson, and then became blue under the high sun ; the first low twitter 
of a bird became a full song, and one song became a general chorus, 
which reached its fullest outpouring of harmony, then lessened and 
ceased ; the earliest sound of human life in the town became the gen- 
eral morning stir ; from the playground not far away was heard the 
voice of one child, of two, of many, loudly commingling. 

The familiar noise connected itself with duty. He looked at his 
watch. It was the hour to open the school ; and he got up and walked 
to it, unaware that all this time he had not moved from his chair by 
the window or taken off his hat. 


VI. 

ONE OF THE WEIRD SISTERS. 

Blear-eyed little Jennie drew fearful tomahawks all the next 
morning; and about eleven o’clock the wee chubby-cheeked urchin, 
having at long intervals dropped a pencil, a slippery-elm whistle, a yel- 
low muffin with a surprising incision on one side, and then his spelling- 


JOHN GRAY. 


678 

book, at last fell to the floor with a soft heavy thud himself, having gone 
to sleep in unoccupied despair on the hard end of his high perch. 

As Gray was walking across the public square at noon and ap- 
proaching the Sign of the Indian Queen, adjoining the two locust-trees, 
from the blacksmith-shop issued the sounds of a horse kicking violently 
against the back door of the shop, and of a pleasant voice raised in still 
more violent remonstrance ; and when he came opposite, he saw Peter 
standing at a prudent distance from a forlorn, vicious, and passion- 
hearted beast, with a nick in her left ear, a swelling in the groin, a 
blaze in her forehead, and a white hind-foot. 

Peter, who, however occupied, always kept a social eye on the 
street, caught sight of him, and immediately threw up one sturdy bare 
arm as a sign for him to stop. Gray, being in no mood for talking, 
would have passed on, but Peter cried out, with bluff imperativeness, 
“ Stop ! will you ?” and, walking out to the street, planted himself 
squarely before Gray and looked him straight in the eyes. Peter’s own 
eyes were red and rather swollen, and his temper had been stirred. 

“ There’s one question I’ve got to ask you,” he said. “ If you 
answer it the wrong way, you can walk on, and Peter Springle’s not the 
man ever to ask you to stop at his door again. But if you answer it 
the right way, then I’ve got something else to say to you, that I’m 
thinking you’ll want to hear. Did you ever tell anybody that Jerry 
Neave was the best blacksmith in this town ?” 

“ No,” answered Gray, quietly and wonderingly. “ I don’t know 
who is the best, but, from all I hear, I’ve always thought you were the 
best, Peter.” 

“ I knowed he was lying! I knowed he was lying /” exclaimed Peter, 
who seemed to stand in need of double emphasis ; and, wiping his grimy 
right hand on his leather apron, he held it out warmly. “ Now step 
inside and set down on my bench a minute. You lost a shoe last night, 
and you’ve been going lame ever since, and you’re getting lamer every 
minute. I knowed it as soon as I caught sight of you ; and in five min- 
utes I’m going to put a new shoe on you that’ll set you travelling at a 
gait you never struck before. I’m the only man to do it, and I’m the 
only man that can shoe Jack Barnett’s Sappho !” And, turning round, 
Peter shook his head with a menace at the mare, who now stood in 
deceptive quietude. Then Peter, seating himself close to Gray, for 
whom he had much affection, laid bare the whole of Stafford’s deception. 

Near the front door of the shop stood a huge walnut-tfee with wide- 
spreading branches, wearing the fresh plumes of late May, — plumes 
that hung down over the doors and across the windows, leaving the cool 
interior suffused with a soft twilight of green and brown shadows. A 
shaft of sunbeams, penetrating a crevice in the blackened roof above, 
fell on the white neck of a yellow collie that lay on the ground with his 
head on his paws but with his eyes fixed reproachfully on the heels of 
the mare, while one of his ears was turned back toward his master. 
Beside him a box had been kicked over, and its contents of tools and 
shoes scattered. A faint line of blue smoke sagged from the dying 
coals of the forge toward the door, creeping across the anvil bright as 
if tipped with silver. And in one of the darkest comers of the shop, 


JOHN GRAY. 


679 


near a bucket of water in which floated a huge brown gourd, Peter and 
John sat on a rough bench, while the tale was begun and finished. It 
was told by Peter with much rubbing of his elbows in the palms of his 
hands aud much smoothing of his apron over his knees ; and it was 
heard by John Gray almost without breath or motion. At times a cloud, 
passing beneath the sun, threw the whole shop into heavier shadow ; 
and then his dark figure faded into the tone of the blackened wall 
behind him, and only his face, with the contrast of its white linen collar 
below and the barely discernible lights of his auburn hair above, — his 
face, proud, resolute, sincere, pallid, suffering, — started out of the gloom 
like a portrait from an old-time canvas. 

He listened as one may listen to a reprieve from sentence of death. 
The web of deceptive circumstances that had been spun across his vision 
was torn away by a single movement of the hand. He caught Peter’s 
hand in a vice, looked into his eyes for a moment, and went out. 

Peter watched him as he hurried away. 

“ I knowed he wouldn’t go lame !” he said, with fine satisfaction. 
“ I knowed the shoe’d fit him !” 

When the school was dismissed, Gray soon left the town behind 
him on his rapid way to the Falconers'. Amy, as he learned, had gone 
home during the morning. 

From the moment of the night before, when, standing on the street 
and looking in at her as she danced with Joseph, lie had said, “ She shall 
never trouble me again,” — from that moment his one resolution had 
been to put her away forever from his thoughts. During the rest of the 
evening at the Wilkinsons’ he had been inwardly busy with the one duty 
of making this purpose more and more secure, as a determined workman 
examines and re-examines and drives yet a little further home some 
great bolt of iron. During all the hours after he had gone home, as he 
sat at his window while the night passed, and dawn came, and then full 
day, and the opening of the school, his mind had never been able to get 
away from that new starting-point. During the hours of the morning 
school there had always been that one ceaseless going over within him- 
self of the same little formula. And when at last noon came, and in 
passing Peter’s shop he had out of mere good will consented to listen to 
Peter’s confidence, his thoughts still strove that wretched way. 

But sometimes, in walking through a land, one will come upon a 
bridge that has been thrown across a stream, and, pausing and looking 
down, will observe how the water passes under with a dark, deep, silent 
current, and then a few feet below flows out in sunlit rippling shallows 
that are full of melody. It was thus that the current of John Gray’s 
thoughts was transformed by Peter’s story. He had gone out of the 
shop, feeling as if he had passed from under some chill gloomy arch- 
way out beneath the glad blue firmament, and his whole mind had 
become a thousand commingling and disappearing whirlpools of joyous 
emotion. 

And thus, as he now hurried on to the Falconers’, keeping that 
straight course through the forest which he had taken a few afternoons 
before, he restored her again to stainless supremacy over his imagina- 
tion. 


680 


JOHN GRAY. 


“ And if I have wronged her, have I not suffered for it ? Have I 
not suffered ?” 

A deeper tumult of joyous emotions surged in him as he drew near 
the house. 

“ At last !” he murmured. “ At last I shall see her and make my- 
self understood. No more delay now ! No more misunderstanding ! 
Amy ! Amy ! Amy ! At last ! At last ! ” 

He passed the nearest field, passed the garden where on Tuesday he 
had talked with Mrs. Falconer, passed into the yard beyond, and took 
the garden path toward the house. 

“ Where shall I find her? Where shall I find her alone ?” 

Between himself and the house there stood a separate building of 
logs and plaster. It was a single room, used for the spinning and the 
weaving, of which she had charge. Many a time he had sat on the 
great oaken chest into which the homespun cloth was stored while she 
sat by her spinning-wheel ; at many a Saturday twilight they had 
whispered their parting here, he with an ache in his heart for the time 
to come when he could ask her to be his wife. 

“ If she should only be in the weaving-room ! ” 

The sun was setting. The work of the day was done. He knew 
that as he came up, because no sound was heard inside. But as he 
stepped around to the front, the door stood open, and he advanced on 
noiseless tiptoe to the entrance and looked in. 

She was standing near the middle of the room, with her face turned 
from him. On one side of the room were the spinning-wheels, and 
farther on a loom ; before her was a table on which was piled the cloth 
ready to be folded away; on the other the great open chest, into which 
she was about to store it. But in the act she had paused, and now 
stood motionless, caught in some trance of re very, with her hands clasped 
behind her head. 

At the sight of her, with the remorseful thought of how he had 
mistreated and misjudged her and the victorious sense that the mo- 
ment for which he had waited so long was come at last, he stepped for- 
ward in a passion of tenderness and threw out his arms and folded them 
around her. She put up hers and clasped them around his neck, draw- 
ing him yet closer, and letting her head nestle against his neck and her 
hair brush his cheek. 

Thus for a minute they stood, and he held his breath, and his heart 
knocked like a stone against his side. 

“ Uncle Falconer,” she said at length, as if still but half awakened 
out of her thoughts, “ this is the last linen I will ever weave for you. 
To-morrow I shall begin to weave for my own home.” 

He bent his head quickly down and kissed her. 

She struggled out of his arms with a cry of fear and surprise, and, 
having turned, confronted him with her figure drawn to its full height, 
her lips parted and trembling, and her lovely eyes filling with passiou, 
cold, angry, and resentful. But the words she might have spoken went 
unsaid ; for he made a gesture that kept her silent. 

“Wait, Amy!” he cried, in a tone that she had never heard. 
“ Listen to me first !” 


JOHN GRAF. 


681 


Of all expressions ever worn by the poor human face there are two 
that never deceive, — the look of death and the look of love. From the 
face of death all hopes, all passions, all joys, all wrongs, have vanished, 
leaving only that external calm which is the pale deceptive mask of swift 
change and eternal dissolution. Into the face of love all passions and 
hopes, life, the world, the soul, destiny, the dream of immortality, the 
joy of heaven, meet in one confession, one prayer, — the supreme prayer 
of the heart that it may live and die, not in God, but in another heart 
erring and mortal like itself. 

He was standing by the door- way. A small window in the opposite 
wall of the low room opened toward the west. Through this the crimson 
light caught from the far-off radiance of the heavens streamed in and 
fell upon his face, cruelly revealing a pallor, a storm of feelings, a 
struggle for calmness. It fell upon his hair, touching it with a beauty 
almost beyond nature. 

She stood a few yards off, with her face toward him and in shadow. 
As she stepped backward, one of her hands had struck against her 
spinning-wheel, and now lightly rested on it ; with the other she had 
caught the edge of the table. From the spinning-wheel a thread of 
flax trailed to the ground ; on the table near her hand lay a pair of iron 
shears. 

He was a scholar ; and as he now stood looking at her thus con- 
fronting him in cold, half-shadowy anger, — at the spinning-wheel with 
its trailing flax and the table with its iron shears, — at her hands stretched 
forth as if about to grasp the one and to lay hold on the other, — from 
that necessity which in some states of extraordinary excitement forces 
the mind to a conscious apprehension of things the most trivial or 
irrelevant, there came to him in one incredibly swift flash of unhappy 
association the thought that he stood in the presence of the very figure 
of Fate. But the fancy passed with incredible swiftness and was suc- 
ceeded by another, — the thought of her youth and loveliness. She wore 
a dress of coarse but snow-white homespun, narrow in the skirt, and 
fitting close to her arms and neck and to the outlines of her form. Her 
hair was parted simply over her low beautiful brow and caught in two 
large braids behind. Not a ribbon, not a trifle, not a semblance of 
vanity or whim ; so that in that primitive, stern, stark, fearless revela- 
tion of itself her figure had the frankness of a masterpiece of nature, 
draped only as a concession to taste. 

He began to explain how for the sake of annoying them both 
Stafford had stooped to petty spiteful deception. 

“ If I was unfeeling with you,” he said, “ only consider the circum- 
stances ! You had broken your engagement with me without giving a 
reason ; I saw you at the party dancing with Joseph ; I believed myself 
miserable, cruelly trifled with, and dishonored. I said that if you could 
treat me in that way there was nothing you could say that I cared to 
hear. I was blind to the truth : I believe I was blinded by suffering.” 

As he spoke, the anger died out of her face, but in its stead came 
something worse, — a look of hardness, and something that was worse 
still, — a look of indifference. 

“ If you suffered, it was your own fault,” she replied, calm as a 


682 


JOHN GRAY. 


judge. “ I wanted to explain to you why I broke my engagement and 
why I went with Joseph : you refused to allow me. You refused even 
to speak to me.” 

“ But, Amy, before that ! Remember that I had gone to see you 
the night before. You had a chance to explain then. But you did not 
explain : you laughed. Still, I did not doubt that your reason was good. 
I did not ask you to state it. But when I saw you at the party with 
Joseph, was I not right, Amy, was I not right, in thinking that the 
time for explanation had passed ?” 

"No,” she replied, severely. “As long as I did not give any 
reason, you ought not to have asked for one ; but when I wished to 
give it, you should have been ready to hear it.” 

He drew himself up quickly, like a man who wishes to be done 
with a thing. 

“ This is a poor pitiful misunderstanding !” he cried. “ It is un- 
worthy of us. I say, forgive me ! We will let it pass. I had thought 
each of us was wrong, — you at first, and I afterwards/’ 

“ I was not wrong either first or last !” she interposed, firmly. 

“ You think so, because you do not understand, because you do not 
dream of the truth, because you do not know how I have felt and what 
I have suffered ! Amy, you know that I have loved you for a long 
time, — a long, long time. You could never have acted toward me as 
you have, if you had not known this. And that night — the night you 
would not see me alone — I went to ask you to marry me. I meant to 
ask you last night. I am here to ask you now.” 

He did not stop. He told her of the necessity that had kept him 
from speaking sooner, of the recent change in his life which now for 
the first time made it possible. He told her how he had waited and 
planned for this hour, and had shaped his whole future with the thought 
that she would share it. 

While she listened, her head had dropped slightly forward. She 
now lifted it, and said, with deliberation, — 

“And what right had you to be so sure all this time that I would 
marry you whenever you asked me? What right had you to take it 
for granted that whenever you were ready I would be ?” 

He could easily have said that she had given him the right to feel 
confident. Between them had passed many things which, had she loved 
him, would have been pardonably natural, but which if she had not 
loved him would have been in his eyes a fatal blemish on the delicacy 
of her womanhood. As therefore she now, in dealing him a wound, 
unknowingly dealt a worse one to herself, the blood rushed into his face’ 
and, with a pitiful sense of being doubly wronged, he drew himself up 
again, — a little proudly, perhaps. 

I have only hoped ! I loved you. I could not love you without 
hoping. I could not hope without planning. The hoping, the plan- 
ning, the striving, the waiting,— everything ! — it was all & in the fact 

that I loved you !” And then he waited, looking down on her in 
silence. 

She had grown nervous. She had stooped to pick up the thread 
of flax from the giound, and was passing it slowly between her fingers, 


JOHN GRAY. 


683 


her eyes following it. When he spoke again, his voice showed that he 
shook like a man with a chill : 

“ I have said all that I can say. I have offered you all that I have 
to offer. It is what in myself I have always held most dear and sacred : 
it is my heart ! I am waiting.” 

Still the silence lasted, for the awe that fell upon her. At length 
she covertly lifted her frightened eyes to him, as though she w T ere look- 
ing up to a higher level than the one she stood on. She saw a certain 
proud incredible beauty of tenderness and pain in his face, and his eyes 
searched her with a questioning earnestness beyond anything that she 
had ever dreamed of. She quickly dropped her head ; she shifted her 
position ; a band seemed to tighten around her throat ; until, in a voice 
hardly to be heard and that was itself a confession of error, the words 
faltered forth : 

“ I have promised to marry Joseph.” 

He did not speak or move, but continued to stand leaning against 
the lintel of the door-way and looking down on her; but, as plainly 
as the color was fading from the sky, his face grew ashen white. 

She had caught up the iron shears in her distraction and begun to 
cut the flaxen thread ; and, in the silence of the room, only the rusty 
click was now heard, as she clipped it, clipped it, clipped it. 

Then such a fit of trembling seized her that she laid the shears back 
upon the table. Still he did not move or speak, and there seemed to 
fall upon her an insupportable burden, until, as if by no will of her 
own, she spoke again, voluntarily, — pitifully : 

“ I didn’t know that you cared so much for me. It isn’t my fault. 
You had never ashed me, and he had already asked me twice.” 

He changed his position quickly, and the last light, coming in 
through the window, no longer fell upon his face and betrayed it. But 
she was aware that he was looking, not at her, but through and through 
her. All at once his voice broke through the darkness, so unlike itself 
that she started : 

u Tell me one thing : when did you give him this promise? I have 
no right to ask you ; but, for reasons you could not perhaps understand, 
it would be kind of you to tell me. When did you give him this 
promise ?” 

She answered, as if by no will of her own, — 

“ Last night, — as we were going home.” 

She waited until she felt that she would sink to the ground with 
weakness. Then, as if he had bent his head down so close to hers that 
it touched her and yet did not touch her, — so close that his warm breath 
was on her forehead, — she felt rather than heard him say, as if to him- 
self, not to her, — 

“ Good-by !” 

He passed like a tall spirit out the door, and she heard his footsteps 
die along the pathway,— die slowly away, as of one who goes never 
to return. 

Then she covered her face with her hands, and through her fingers 
streamed the first bitter tears of her young womanhood. 


684 


JOHN GRAY. 


VII. 

MORE EDITORIAL SECRETS. 

It was now about the middle of Saturday afternoon. On Friday — 
the morning after the party — Stafford had ridden on business to Frank- 
fort ; but before setting out he had learned of the success of his scheme 
and of John Gray’s angry discomfiture. 

The incident furnished him food for pleasant rumination during his 
long ride to and from the capital ; and, being now on his ride home, 
he was gayly considering how he might still further annoy the school- 
master, when at a sharp turn in the road — the spot being about a mile 
from Lexington — he came suddenly upon Gray himself, who was lying 
under a clump of saplings some yards ahead. Aroused by the sound 
of the horse’s feet, he sprang up, and on seeing Stafford walked out 
into the middle of the road and waited. He had taken off his hat 
and coat and waistcoat, and his trousers were girt around him like 
some workman’s who has trimmed himself for neat, quick, violent 
action. 

At the sight of him, Stafford’s face took on at first a puzzled look. 
Then his eye lit up with a flash of joyous exultation. He was not a 
coward ; his passions, though soon exhausting themselves, were terrible 
while they lasted ; and, on the supposition that the school-master now 
showed fight, he welcomed the chance of settling a good many private 
grudges. And what a thing to tell at the Indian Queen, at the Spin- 
ning-Wheel, at the Virginia Arms, at the Sheaf of Wheat ! 

When Gray placed himself in the middle of the road, Stafford’s 
horse was moving along on one side. With a twist of the curb he now 
put it in a bee-line with Gray’s figure, meaning to force a fight if none 
were offered. Gray stood still until the horse’s head was within arm’s 
length ; then he quietly laid hold of the bridle-reins, and, throwing 
the whole weight of his body forward, brought it to an abrupt stop. 

“ Loose my horse!” cried Stafford, furious. “ Loose my horse! 
What do you mean ?” 

“ Get down,” said Gray. His tone was quiet and his face pale. 
He had the manner of a man who is compelled to do a disagreeable 
thing but means to do it thoroughly and with all his might. “ Get 
down. I don’t believe you are a coward ; but I mean to settle this 
matter now and here, and I’ll not give you any chance to escape. 
Get down and make ready in any way you like.” 

“ Escape ! Oh, ho ! Escape ! \ oung school-master, where’s your 
little hickory switch? Have you brought it with you ? Is it hidden 
down your boot-leg? Have you brought one of the little pine paddles 
which your boys use to paddle yellow butterflies with on the common ? 
Escape /” 

“I have but one thing to say to you,” replied Gray. “ When I 
punish a boy, I tell him what I do it for. I am going to punish you 
for your lying and mischief-making interference in my affairs. You 
may be the better man. But I know one thing : before you whip me 
I will punish you for that. That’s all. I’ll give you five minutes to 


JOHN GRAY. 


685 


get down and strip if you wish. If you are not down by that time, 
1*11 jerk you off your horse.” 

Stafford had a heavy riding-whip in his hand. He threw it into 
the air and caught it by the light end. 

“ Excuse me,” he said, “ I do not hurry through my pleasures. I 
have several things to say. But, meanwhile, if in one minute’s time 
you don’t take your hand off my bridle-bit, I’ll lay the butt of this 
whip on your head.” 

“ Will you get down ?” 

“ Let go, I say !” 

With the spring of a wild-cat Gray leaped toward Stafford’s saddle- 
bow to seize the whip ; but Stafford with an upward movement of his 
arm equally quick threw it high over his head. Then he raised himself 
in his stirrups and brought it down with all his might. Gray saw it 
coming, and swerved so that it grazed his ear but fell on his neck at 
the shoulder, — a coarse, ugly blow, cutting into the flesh. A smothered 
growl of rage and pain — the sound that the human being makes when 
the ancient wild beast lying in the lair of the heart is aroused at last 
— broke from him. With another spring he seized the whip before 
it could fall again, flung it away, caught Stafford by the wrist, and, 
throwing his whole weight backward, planted a foot against the horse’s 
shoulder and dragged Stafford off. As he fell, the saddle turned, the 
horse sprang aside, and Gray lost his balance and fell backward in the 
road, pulling Stafford heavily on him. 

The horse, with bridle-reins broken, and the saddle hanging under 
its belly, was found grazing on the lower edge of the common by three 
boys who had gone thither to fish for perch in the Town Fork, and led 
to the public square. 

Those were still such perilous times that when a man rode from 
settlement to settlement there were chances of his never being seen 
again. The news instantly drew to the spot the townspeople, excited, 
sad, and fearful ; and half an hour later a company of his friends, well 
mounted and well armed, rode rapidly out of town in the direction of 
Frankfort. 

At a turn in the road they came upon Stafford, sitting by the 
roadside. He started to his feet, as though he would have hidden 
in the bushes, and a flush dyed his face. And when they rode up, 
and, jumping from their horses, pressed him with questions, he seemed 
under great excitement and unable to give an account of what had 
happened. But a moment later he regained control of himself. 

“Give me a little time!” he cried, beginning to shake hands all 
around. “ Give me a little time, and congratulate me ! If you’d been 
five minutes sooner, we’d have had him! Oh, I’m not hurt! I’m 
bruised. But why didn’t you come five minutes sooner! We’d have 
had him, and I’d have had the reward in my pocket.” And Stafford 
told his story. 

For some months the government had been advertising in the 
papers for tw T o deserters, — one James Booze, a Virginian, and one John 
Music, born in Surry County, North Carolina. 


686 


JOHN GRAY. 


u As I was riding along/’ said Stafford, “and just as I got opposite 
that little clump of saplings over yonder, I saw a man asleep under 
them. That looked strange. A man doesn’t go to sleep on the road- 
side in this part of the country without a rifle ; and this fellow had no 
rifle. And then all at once it struck me that he might be one of these 
deserters; and so I rode up, and there was my man, — that same John 
Music! I recognized him in a minute/because, you see, I’d read the 
description of him in the Pioneer till I knew it by heart : ‘ About 
twenty-two years old ; five feet five and a half inches high ; of a light 
complexion, gray eyes, black hair ; remarkably well made and uncom- 
monly handsome ; a silent, well-behaved man ; wrist of right arm dis- 
located ; wearing a fine fur hat, not much worn, with black binding 
and yellow sweat-leather; a brown-colored cloth coat with rolling 
collar and round yellow buttons; a pair of dove-colored corduroy 
pantaloons, edged with blue and split across the knees.’ Oh, I knew 
him ! And beside him a big bundle of clothing — military shirts, 
shoes, and socks — belonging to soldiers of the United States army. So 
said I to myself, ‘ You’re my prisoner, Mr. John Music !’ and I slipped 
off my horse and crept toward him. But he heard me and jumped up, 
and in another minute we had clinched and were at it, rolling over and 
over like two hedgehogs doubled into one. And then we were on our 
feet, and then we clinched and were down again, and then on our feet 
and at it with our fists and down again, on our feet and down again. 
For, I can tell you, Mr. John Music didn’t mean to be arrested by a 
scarecrow. They said he was quiet and well behaved. I might admit 
he was well behaved ; but I failed to see that he was remarkably quiet ! 
And as for a dislocated wrist, — phew ! But I was getting the best of 
him, when the fellow hit me a cunning blow that knocks the breath 
out of me for a minute ; and then he turns and seizes his bundle, and 
takes to his heels for life itself, — me after him. But it was no use. In 
a hundred yards he was three hundred yards ahead, and then off he 
darts into the cane, — lost. For a man can’t ride through that thicket ; 
and catch him on foot ! — you might as well whistle to a snipe!” 

But the town soon knew that the fight had been between Stafford 
and Gray, as well as all the circumstances preceding, and the incident 
gave rise to varied comment. 

Mr. Horatio Turpin, a few days later, while sitting in Peter’s shop, 
cutting with a hickory switch at a huge spur on his jack-boot heel, and 
even forgetting for the moment how well he looked in a green coatee and 
thunder-and-lightning waistcoat, was especially warm over the affair. 

“ 1 cal1 ^ a beastly shame,” he argued, “ for a fellow to go off and 
whip another fellow because some other fellow has beat him with a 
gyerl. If John Gray wanted to fight anybody, why didn’t he fight 
Joe Holden? Suppose that when I entered Taps, by Craps, dam 
Draps, m the purse race last October, against Mulberry, by Hackberry 
dam Blackberry,— suppose, I say, that Mulberry had beaten Taps,— 
although you really cant suppose such a thing, you know, — would I 
have gone ofi and whipped Jack Barnett for owning Sappho, sire and 
dam unknown ? No, sir ! Would I have gone off and whipped the 
owner of Mulberry ? No, sir ! I wouldn’t have whipped anybody.” 


JOHN GRAF . 


687 


“ You never spoke a truer word, Turpin,” observed Peter, who 
was sitting astride his anvil-block, rapidly turning out horseshoe-nails, 
which he let drop in the dust at his feet. “ You never spoke a truer 
word. Whoever whips you , you’ll never whip nobody !” 

As Peter said this, he got up and walked over to Mr. Turpin, 
holding out to him his hammer, on the flat side of which lay two nails. 

“ Now, here are two nails,” said Peter, “and they’re as like as like 
can be. But pick up one and look at its head.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Turpin, doing so, “there’s nothing funny I see 
about its head.” 

“ Yes ; but look at the head of the other one,” said Peter. 

Mr. Turpin picked up the other nail, but instantly let it drop and 
shook his fingers violently. 

“ That’s the difference !” said Peter, with a twinkle ; “ and I know 
some people who are the same way. You see ’em together, and they look 
exactly alike. Then you try to fool with one, and you can do it ; then 
you try to fool with the other, and you can’t ! The school-master didn’t 
whip Stafford because Holden beat him with a ‘ gyerl,’ as you call it.” 

But it accorded with the generous, manly temper of the rough 
period that the plan was at once laid to reconcile the two men ; and 
a week had not passed before they were decoyed one night into the same 
inn and made to shake hands and drink a bowl of sagamity. 

Nor was the reconciliation hard to either. Stafford had been severely 
whipped, but then he had perhaps annoyed Gray for the rest of life; 
and he would have taken the whipping for the sake of the joke. Gray, 
having punished Stafford, had nothing further against him ; moreover, 
his mind was absorbed in graver thoughts. 

And it was well that they should be at peace. For, several days 
later, Stafford, in mounting a vicious horse of Turpin’s, got badly 
thrown ; and Gray was one of the first of the young men of the town 
to take a nightly place at his bedside. A week later, when the last 
darkness was settling upon him, he reached for Gray’s hand and laid it 
on his lips, — not more gently had it been a woman’s. The action was 
one of those which will perhaps be better explained in a better world 
than this ; but it brought quick hot tears to the eyes of John Gray, as 
he bent over and kissed him. 


VIII. 

THE LAST OF SCHOOL-DAYS. 

The last of village school-days a hundred years ago ! The very 
words tinkle as drowsily on the ear as the sounds of distant sheep-bells 
heard in a dream, — full of peace, full of the thoughts of cool green 
pastures to wander in all the summer long. 

But every morning John Gray asked himself the question, Would 
the last of school-days never come ? He was much like a palm-tree : 
his nature strove to bear its fruit and leaves high in the air and to have 
no soiled and drooping branches. But, if one may trust scant tradition, 


JOHN GRAY. 


688 

there is reason to believe that about this time he had the look of a 
vigorous plant which has been badly tampered with at the root. 

Certainly when night fell upon the little town of eight or ten hun- 
dred people, and the wild, hardy life expressed itself at the taverns and 
the inns, — when the pipes were glowing and the bowls flowing, — there 
was not a pipe that did not say to some cup that the school-master was 
a pretty sick man, if he was making a brave fight not to let anybody 
know it ; and then pipe and cup had a laugh together, — sturdy, rollick- 
ing, but not unfriendly. For every man thinks more of every man 
who is in love ; but every man privately laughs at every man who is 
disappointed : he will sympathize, yes ! — but in the depths of his soul 
he will laugh. 

By the custom of the time, engagements were short and stripped 
of secrecy ; and at once it grew public that Joseph was to marry Amy. 
It became divulged, also, that on the very day after her betrothal to 
him she had been asked in wedlock by John Gray ; and it was said 
that this information came from Kitty Poythress, though how Kitty 
could have learned it was never conjectured. 

The date of the wedding was fixed for the last of June; and at 
once Joseph had fallen to work upon a house for himself, that he might 
have it in readiness. He was a well-made young fellow, strong of limb 
and lung and purpose, and steady and gentle-hearted. In Kentucky 
at that period a young man did whatever work was needed ; and having 
come to the wilderness to seek his fortunes — no less than to follow the 
Falconers, for his passion had been an old trouble with Joseph — he had 
become a carpenter in the stress of his poverty. Later on, when he 
became possessed of a town lot with a house of his own on it, he meant 
to follow the business of locating disputed land-grants; and he fancied 
that he would not mind dying in extreme old age as a fat justice of the 
peace. 

Joseph had his town lot now; but if among a people who were 
nothing if not frank and social there was the custom that a man must 
not woo in secret, there was another custom that he must not be left 
to build his house alone. So the pipes and the cups got together again 
one night, and both were a little more fiery than usual ; and a few days 
later, into the town from this direction and from that direction came 
wagons out of the forests, hauling the logs for the young fellow’s house. 
And when the logs had been hauled and made ready, there was another 
meeting of the pipes and cups, still more fiery, still more full ; and the 
next morning, with a great deal of loud laughter, and the writhing of 
tough backs, and the straining of powerful arms and legs, men old, 
middle-aged, and young raised the house, like overgrown boys at play, 
and then went about their own neglected business : so that to him was 
left only the finishing. 

On the stillness of the school-room across the square often broke 
the noises of hammer and saw ; and at other times Gray could hear the 

music of “ Sir Roger De Coverley,” whistled low, as if not to reach his 
ears. 

Joseph and he had been good friends by many of those bonds that 
suffice to hold men together, especially as members of the Democratic 


JOHN GRAY . 


689 


Club ; but after what had passed between Amy and himself, his peculiar 
standard of womanly conduct in such a matter left him no honest room 
to congratulate a friend on marrying her. Joseph observed this silence 
with surprise, setting it down to the motive which is usually the one in 
sight ; and Gray perceived how he was misjudged ; but there was no 
possibility of his explaining, and he had to bear the charge of har- 
boring a grudge. 

Peter came one night to comfort John, who, according to his tech- 
nical phrase, was now going lame on all-fours; and he did his best to 
create diverting conversation. God knows he did his worst likewise; 
for, having tested one topic after another and found Gray polite in all 
but interested in none, Peter, from a soft-hearted motive, fell into a 
weakness and then into a lightness and then into a moral giddiness and 
then into an open lie. But a greater Peter once lied for a worse reason, 
and was forgiven. Nevertheless the lie Peter now gave vent to was 
undeniably of that nature which comes easy in the telling, it being the 
history of his own rise in the business of blacksmithing, — how he was 
born in New Jersey, how his father had been a blacksmith before him, 
how that father had shod General Washington’s favorite horse just 
before the battle of Trenton, and how he, Peter himself, then a small 
but intelligent lad, had watched the battle from a floating cake of ice 
exactly the shape of a horseshoe. 

Gray certainly looked interested at last, and Peter rose to leave in 
the flush of success. 

“ You know what else I want to say, John, and you know I can’t 
say it ; and that’s all I’ve got to say !” lie remarked, as he went away, 
sorrowfully rubbing his elbows. 

There dwelt in the town an Episcopal parson by the name of the 
Reverend James Moore ; and, tidings of this affair having reached his 
long-attentive ear, oftener than once in passing John upon the street he 
had loitered to inquire absently for his health and press upon him a 
dreamy invitation to be social. So that, rather with a wish not to seem 
unappreciative than from the hope of finding in the parson any actual 
flesh-and-blood companionship, Gray one night knocked at the widow 
Spurlock’s door. Curiously admitted by her, and rather jealously 
allowed to climb the stairs to her lodger’s room, he walked in upon the 
student of belles-lettres, logic, metaphysics, and moral philosophy with 
the regretful sense that he was rudely breaking in upon consecrated 
labors. 

The parson sat before a common table strewn with books and ser- 
mons ; on one side of his face the candle, on the other the Magic 
Flute; and it is doubtful whether the latter, although opaque, did not 
do more than its half in illuminating his shadowy countenance. 

When Gray entered, he rose gracefully ; but the greeting itself was 
shy, even blundering; and after resuming his seat he bent his blinking 
eyes with polite confusion on his visitor, in the effort to divine what 
on earth could possibly have brought him there ; for he had forgotten 
his owm invitations. 

Seeing this, Gray thought it best to recall the fact to his memory ; 
and therefore he remarked how greatly these invitations had been 
Vol. XLIX.— 44 


690 


JOHN GRAY. 


appreciated and with what pleasure he had this evening ventured to 
accept one. 

“ Ah ! Yes, yes !” murmured the parson, in tones of silvery reas- 
surance. “ It is perfectly true : I did invite you ; and I am glad you 
have come. I had desired to speak with you about your trouble as one 
of the forms of — Evil.” He drew his chair closer to the table and let 
his cheek rest in the palm of one long thin white hand, the fingers of 
which hid themselves in the overhanging mass of his pale-brown hair ; 
with the other he softlv stroked the Flute. On his face rested a look 
of commingled resignation and compassion. 

“ All of us have our sorrows,” he began, “ and the sorrow of each 
is so perfectly adapted to hurt him ! I sometimes liken the human race 
to an endless caravan of camels travelling across a desert, each camel 
having a sore on his hump, and the load of each being exactly so placed 
as to rub that sore. For instance, — and you will excuse the personal 
reference, — my sorrows are my own ; to another they would seem im- 
aginary. Only observe how my actual troubles are piled high on this 
table before my very eyes ! Here is a treatise on metaphysics that is 
like the affliction of total deafness ; here is a work on moral philosophy 
that is a positive wound in my side ; here is a compendium of evan- 
gelical doctrine that leaves me sleepless, it is such an insult to the 
heavenly Father. My lot is to feel these things : they rub me where I 
am most sensitive. They would rub another where he is most callous, 
and he would not be aware of the attrition. And therefore I never 
speak of them except, as now, to elucidate a principle. Passing, then, 
from my case to yours, I doubt not that in the very philosophy of 
things you are perfectly constituted to suffer from what has befallen 
you, although to another it would be nothing.” 

Gray darted upon the parson a glance of astonished warning ; but 
the parson did not see it. He merely made for his cheek a securer 
prop in his hand, directed his gaze at the heart of the candle-flame, 
and went on in tones of ethereal serenitude : 

“ It should perhaps be admitted in the beginning that I have not 
what may appropriately be called a physical apprehension of your diffi- 
culty. It is, as it were, wholly extraneous to all my inevitable bodily 
functions ; nor does it disturb either the logical or the moral equilibrium 
of my faculties. Nevertheless, sympathy is a long tangent, and by 
means of this I can touch you in the distance. By means of it I can 
reach to an understanding of the strange fact that you suffer from the 
consequences of unhappy love. But, my dear friend, if you suffer 
greatly from such a cause, this can only arise from the fact that you re- 
gard love as of essential importance in the life and destiny of man ; and 
it had occurred to me that if your views could be made to abate their 
vehemence — if other views, less impetuous and absorbing, could be sub- 
stituted — your sufferings might be lessened and made even tolerable.” 

“ Woman,” resumed the parson, after a pause, and with a smile of 
deepening pity , — ■“ woman was without doubt created by the heavenly 
Father that man should love her; and, since you have loved one, you 
are at least entitled to the consolation of having done His holy will. 
But, on the other hand, it should never be forgotten what countless ages 


JOHN GRAY. 


691 


have elapsed since woman was created, and how in the mean time she 
has so changed as no longer to represent a perfect expression of the 
divine handiwork ; and that therefore there is great reason to believe 
that God will regard with infinite mercy the case of one of his male 
creatures who in this age of the world should find it impossible to fall 
in love. 

“ It is on account of this changed condition of woman that marriage 
has long been so prevalent a source of unhappiness to the other sex, in- 
stead of every marriage being one of perfect happiness, as was originally 
intended. For many years I have studied the subject, — being myself 
a bachelor, — and I have collected from all human life its most illus- 
trious examples of misery. It would be wearisome to illustrate, but 
you recall the case of the Arabian Nights, do you not? Was there ever 
more overwhelming testimony to the decline and fall of woman ? Think 
of an innocent man’s being forced to murder a thousand of them before 
he could find one! Think of the fair-mindedness with which he one 
thousand times conducted his examination ! Think of one thousand 
disappointments ! There is no evidence that the woman he last chose 
was any better than her predecessors : it simply showed that he had not 
the heart to remove any more of them, and that he chose rather to suffer 
than be cruel. Then, there is the case of Bluebeard, — a tale of the 
highest moral import. Unhappy Bluebeard ! brought down by his 
wrongs to the level of a common executioner ! Or take the case of 
Henry the Eighth. Look at his trials and misfortunes ! It is custom- 
ary to extend sympathy to his wives ; but had poor Henry been per- 
fectly happy with the first one, would he ever have risked a second ? 
If any man were perfectly happy with his wife, would he ever murder 
her? But, my dear friend, only think how much more fortunate you 
are than the martyr of the Arabian Nights, or Bluebeard, or Henry the 
Eighth, in having escaped the possible necessity of doing what they 
did ! It seems to me the whole truth regarding your case is this : you 
imagine yourself unhappy because you believe you have lost some 
greater happiness ; on the contrary, you should consider yourself happy 
in having perhaps escaped the necessity of becoming a homicide.” 

Had the parson been asleep and dreaming? Had he grown sar- 
castic? Had he made the solitary effort of his life to be humorous? 
He had delivered the latter half of his comforting discourse with a cast 
of visage so inscrutably queer as to elude all human interpretation, and 
yet with a voice so gentle and full of faith that it would have been 
hard to believe that he was not reading the ninetieth Psalm. Then, 
having snuffed the candle with a quick audible sigh that it was so 
nearly burnt out, he glanced at his Flute and leaned back in his chair 
with the patient but weary manner of one who should say, — 

“ I have done what I can : why does he stay longer ? Life is so 
serious, the books so many, my candle so short !” 

But Gray did not go at once. He sat opposite the philosopher, 
absorbed in pitying contemplation of the infinite loneliness of his life. 
It struck him that if at that moment the head of the parson had 
been turned into bronze or marble, it would have passed as the eternal 
masterpiece of some sculptor who had embodied his conception of 


692 


JOHN GRAY. 


how Adam would have looked in middle age, had he never heard of 
Eve. 

For some time he stayed away from the Falconers’. But he went 
at last one afternoon, and loitered till supper in his old way ; and really 
the first visit was much less embarrassing than he had expected. 

The major came in late from the fields, and, after a vigorous wash- 
ing of his tanned face and neck and arms in a wooden basin at the 
spring in the yard, was ready for his coffee and ash-cake. Then, with 
a brief prelude on crows and squirrels in his corn, he plunged head- 
foremost into Cordelia and Portia and Calphurnia. In his college days 
the major had written a disquisition on the heroines of Shakespeare. 
The disquisition had been praised, and he had never got over it. 

Amy appeared wholly taken up with her own thoughts, and with 
the weaving of much cloth against the day of her wedding, now so 
near at hand. She met him with a swift covert look of resentful in- 
quiry, but, seeing him at ease, became herself entirely natural. Yet so 
changed. She was more polite, and certainly she created an impression 
of domestic womanliness that filled him with surprise. But the girlish 
coquetries were gone absolutely. They might still exist for Joseph, and 
he fancied that they did ; but for him — no ! He had simply ceased to 
form part of her life. And as for any self-accusal, — as for any affec- 
tion for him which might have clung to her in their new relationship 
out of all the associations of the old, — there was not a trace. He 
wanted to think as well of her as he could ; and he had stayed away 
from the Falconers’ altogether until he should be able to treat her with 
kindness when they met again. But he had now to discover that his 
kindness was not needed. For, once during the evening, the major and 
Mrs. Falconer having been called from the room, he went over and sat 
down beside her and began to talk to her ; but she drew herself a little 
away, and merely replied to his questions in a manner that said, “ You 
bore me.” So that he walked back to town with a rather bleak sense 
of being a second time rejected. 

Still, he went to the Falconers’ regularly after this, sometimes not 
seeing Amy, and always received by the others on the new footing with- 
out comment. Twice Joseph was there; and at supper he sat alone on 
his side of the table, and Joseph and Amy sat on the other, facing him. 
During the meal she would lean over and add a little butter to Joseph’s 
hot Indian cakes, and pour cream into Joseph’s milk, as he had known 
her of old to do for him. She did it with a shade of ostentation now, 
but he was not aware of that. 

Nothing had ever wounded his pride as did this seeming determi- 
nation of hers to shut him entirely out of her life; and he had his 
moments of hot anger that she could thus hold herself victoriously at 
bay against all his better impulses. One afternoon, as he was passing 
the garden, he saw her feeding William Penn choice bits of greenery 
over the garden fence, laying her cheek beside his and rubbing her nose 
against his nose. Among his books he had one in which occurred this 
sentence : “ There liveth on earth a not uncommon but most distasteful 
species of woman, whose delight it is to treat ye brute as a human being 
and }e human being as a brute.” He had once drawn his pencil 


JOHN GRAY. 


693 


through the sentence ; but, by no choice of his own, he thought of it 
that day. 

A little while remained now till he should be going ; and, having 
heard one afternoon that Amy was in town, he went out to talk for the 
last time with Mrs. Falconer. 

She was one of the first of those remarkable gentlewomen who fol- 
lowed their husbands into the wilderness, and there in time laid anfim- 
press so strong and fine upon the local civilization that its traditions are 
lustrous still. To him she had always been a sympathetic companion 
and the sole sharer of his confidences ; but on this subject they had 
never spoken since the day when he had asked her consent to his suit. 
More than once, however, he had discovered her eyes resting on him 
with a look of quiet happiness, as though the affair had turned out in 
keeping with her wishes. 

She was at work in her garden. He had long ago noticed that he 
never found her idle, or even resting. 

“ Only see,” she said, with brave sprightliness, “ how marvellously 
vegetation grows in this soil ! It has been only five or six weeks 
since you stood by the fence where you are now and watched me 
planting seed. Now look at the plants, — how green, how thrifty, how 
enormous !” 

“ It has been a long time to me,” he answered, with rather quiet 
musing, — “ long enough for your plants to have died from age. I 
have lived faster than they have. I feel as though something within 
me had gone from spring to autumn and dropped its bitter leaves, 
fruitless.” 

“ They are bitter now,” she replied, in a voice so low that he hardly 
heard it, “ but, if you treasure them rightly, in time they will yield 
you a perfume.” 

11 Do you remember,” he went on, — for her words made no im- 
pression on him, — ■“ do you remember what I said to you the last time 
I stood here? I boasted that I had yet to meet with my first great 
defeat in life, — had yet to encounter that common myth of inefficient 
characters, an insurmountable barrier. I boasted that I believed in no 
such thing as forces in the world that are stronger than our wills, and 
that the imperfection of our lives resulted from the imperfection of our 
own planning and doing. I boasted that, if ideals got shattered, men 
did the shattering themselves. I boasted that I would go on rearing 
the structure of my life to the last detail, just as I had long conceived 
it. I have learned better since then.” 

They had sat down on a small bench inside the garden fence, and 
a maple-tree threw its shade over them. She took her knitting out 
now, and, leaning toward him, measured a few rows of stitches against 
his wrist. 

“ These are your mittens for next winter,” she said, parenthetically. 
“ When you suffer from cold hands, you’ll have only to think, not of 
me, but of the major’s sheep, and then you’ll remember that you have 
the warming-pans with you.” 

He gave her a look of gratitude and sat silently watching her ever- 
toiling, hard, beautiful hands. 


694 


JOHN GRAY. 


“Go on,” she said, softly, urging him to drain his heart of its 
bitter dregs. 

But he sat awhile, looking absently out across the garden, with his 
big black hat lying on his knees and his hands clasped loosely around 
it. She leaned over again and with a gentle pressure on his hand 
measured the widening band of yarn against his wrist. 

“ I ? d like you to understand it all,” he then continued, still not 
looking at her, but with a personal appeal in his tone, as though her 
action had reminded him of something he was about to forget. “ I 
had not meant to speak of it; but I’d like you to realize fully what 
this means to me. It is a thing that a man finds it hard to talk about, 
and that one man never discusses with another.” 

“ Tell me everything ! Why shouldn’t you ?” 

“ We can’t speak of her /” 

“That is understood.” 

He fell into silence again, but began at last like a man who has a 
story : 

“ About four years ago we began to hear a great deal in Pennsyl- 
vania about Kentucky. I doubt whether such accounts were ever given 
of a new countrv as reached us from time to time, — accounts of its rich- 
ness, beauty, and vastness. We were told that men and women were 
wild about it in Virginia, where the people have such a love of land, 
that many were hurrying to it from distant parts of the United States, 
and that as soon as families could settle with safety, thousands would 
move into it as into a garden of Eden. 

“ I got interested also in stories of the pioneers. The narratives 
seemed to come from a new cradle, a new infancy, of the human race. 
The wilderness struggle was primitive ; it was primeval. In my Homer 
I found many of the elements of its hardy simple life. The figures 
of the chief actors passed before my imagination like the heroes of an 
epic : it was ages before the date of gunpowder ; they should have been 
fighting with shield and spear. Larger than the figures of the men often 
towered the figures of the women ; and when I thought of them, my 
mind was drawn away from Greece to the cradle of their own race, to 
the Anglo-Saxons, — to the Norsemen, — to Normandy, — to Britain, — to 
the conquest of the New World, — to all the wars of this race from first 
to last for liberty and lands and herds and homes; and always urging 
on the men, fighting with them, fighting for them, fighting over their 
dead bodies — the women. In the conquest of Kentucky, I felt that I 
saw the old drama of the race acted over, with the old fierce, lovable 
virtues. I saw a fresh, vigorous starting-point for the inexhaustible 
stock. 

# “ I was alone in life, and I said to myself, I will go to Kentucky ; 
it is a land I should like to live in and a people I should like to live 
among ; and I will cast my lot and my destiny in with theirs. Per- 
haps in time I shall find there the woman I ought to marry. She will 
be one of the first generation of this new people, — strengthened by diffi- 
culty, softened by hardship, simple and pure from close contact with 
nature, serious from having been poor, gentle from the sight of suffer- 
ing. I imagined that she and I ought to do well and live happily 


JOHN GRAY. 


695 


together, life having been hard to us both and brought much kinship 
of experience. I meant to try to be worthy of such a woman.” 

He spoke the last words apologetically and broke off abruptly. But 
she waited for him to go on. 

“ The next year I made my way to Kentucky ; and the next year 
you came, and we were soon friends, and I was soon at home with all 
of you ; then I fell in love with Amy — and — that is all ! The whole 
plan of my life has gone to pieces. That is all !” 

She knew it was not all, and she merely counted her stitches under 
her breath. 

When he spoke again, it was with a certain harshness, as though he 
felt contempt for what he was saying : 

“ It has always been an ideal of mine that the first woman I loved 
should be the one I ought to marry. I have always felt that if I did 
not I should step down to a lower plane and become — I don’t know 
what. We are not to speak of her; but you know that I have loved 
Amy, have thought she loved me, have asked her to be my wife, and 
have found her pledged to marry my friend. No one will ever under- 
stand how really married to her I already was, — how my thoughts had 
run into the future, always planning for us both, always binding us 
more closely by coming ties, always seeing my life take its meaning, 
its fulness, its completion, in her. And now this ideal, too, has been 
trampled on.” 

The sun was getting low, and the shadow of the maple lengthened 
rapidly across the garden. She began to think that the major would 
soon be coming in from the fields, and that evening duties called her. 

She put her knitting into her pocket, and, leaning over, picked up 
his hat, which had fallen off his knees. 

“ Are you sure,” she said, speaking slowly and caressingly, like a 
nurse to a wounded man , — “ are you sure you may not still marry the 
first woman you love? You have never loved Amy.” 

He turned upon her a look of pained astonishment, as though a 
new wound had been dealt him by a trusted hand. 

“ And you think,” he replied, with keen suffering, putting on his 
hat as though it were best to go, — “ you think I will ever believe I did 
not love her?” 

“ Knowing her as you know her now, would you marry her?” 

“ Don’t ask me that!” he cried, sternly. “ I have no right to 
answer such a question. It would not be kind.” 

“ You have answered it,” she said. “ You have answered it just as 
you would have answered it to your own heart had you married her. 
If a trivial accident had not kept you from speaking before Joseph 
spoke, — for we both know what would have happened in that case, — 
you would have soon found out that it was not Amy you loved, but 
your own ideal of her ; and anything like your ideal of her she will 
never, never be in this world.” 

He did not answer, but kept his face turned away. 

“ I would have undeceived you long ago,” she went on, hurriedly, 
“ but you would not have listened. You would have thought that I 
was doing wrong and that you were doing wrong to discuss her faults 


696 


JOHN GRAY. 


and shortcomings. It was necessary that she herself should undeceive 
you, just as she has. But only think, if you had been undeceived too 
late ! Ah, John ! to be disappointed as you have been, — what is that 
to being disappointed in marriage !” 

An intensity of sad passion all at once trembled in her voice, and he 
kept his face turned away, knowing that there were tears in her eyes. 
Once before he had heard that same tone, but colored with proud 
scorn, when she had said, “ The major has an idea that he should have 
married Rosalind.” He had always suspected some carefully-hidden 
tragedy in her life : the revelation of it which had escaped her in that 
sentence appalled him now. He kept his face turned away, with his 
breath drawn in and his jaws set hard together; and then he felt her 
hand laid lightly on both of his, which were crossed on his knees ; and 
when she spoke again, her voice was never more sweet and calm, though 
sadder, as if with penitence for her own transgression : 

“ It is not what has happened to you thus once that I am thinking. 
That is nothing. It will pass, and in the end can only help you. But 
what I regret is the power that life will have to hurt you again and 
again on account of the ideals of yours that you have built up in secret. 
The mistake you have made is not in cherishing the ideals; it is in 
regarding them as the measure of absolute truth and in regarding your- 
self as a success or a failure according to the measure of their realiza- 
tion. 

“So that I am glad, for your own sake, that you are going. You 
do not need Kentucky ; you need civilization. It will perhaps be 

years before you return ; and before you do return, I may be ! You 

know that in all our talks I have my last word; and will you take 
my last word with you this time? I will walk across the garden with 
you. 

As they walked slowly side by side, she said, with a smile and a 
certain air of chiding, looking up to him as he towered above her, — 

“ For the best of us, ideals are of two kinds. There are first the 
ideals that correspond to our highest sense of perfection and express 
what we might be were life, the world, ourselves, all different and 
better. Let these be high as they may ! They are not useless because 
unattainable. Life is not a failure because they are never attained. 
God Himself requires of us the unattainable: He says to us, Be ye 
perfect, even as I am perfect. He could not do less. He commands 
perfection, and then — forgives us that we are not perfect ! But He 
does not count us failures because we have to be forgiven. Our ideals 
also demand of us the impossible in life; but because we come far short 
of them we have no right to suffer or to despair and count ourselves as 
failures. Ideals such as these, — what are they like? They are like 
light-houses. But light-houses are not made to live in ; neither can we 
live in our ideals. I suppose they are meant to shine on us from afar, 
when the night of our life is dark and stormy, and perhaps to remind 
us of a haven of hope, as we drift or sink in shipwreck. 

“But there are ideals of another sort; and it is these that you 
lack. As we advance further into life, out of larger experience of the 
world and knowledge of ourselves there are unfolded the ideals of what 


JOHN GRAY. 


697 


will be possible to us if we make the best use of the world and of our- 
selves, taken as we are. But, let these be as high as they may, they 
will always be lower than those others that are perhaps the veiled inti- 
mations ot heaven and our immortality. They will always be imper- 
fect; but life is not a failure because they are so. It is these that are 
to burn for us, not like light-houses in the distance, but like candles in 
our hands. Alas that for so many of us they are too much like candles ! 
— the longer they burn, the lower they burn, until even before death 
they go out altogether ! But I know that it will not be thus with you. 
At first you will have disappointments and sufferings, — the world on 
one side, unattainable ideals of perfection on the other. But at last 
the comforting light of what you may actually do and be in an imper- 
fect world will shine out more and more ; and it is this that will kindly 
lead you, — never to perfection, but always nearer toward it.” 

There were many leave-takings, for as school-master he was a 
central personage in the town ; and it seemed to him that his heart- 
strings were tugged at until they grew sore to the least strain. All 
partings trouble us : each may be the last ; each touches that deep root 
of pain which the last one always tears out of the soul as a storm tears 
up a tree. 

For all his wishing that the school-days would end, when the final 
morning did come, it was with a lump in his throat that he looked out 
upon his children and tried to speak to them. 

“You know that this is the last day of school,” he said. “To- 
morrow I am going away, — far aw T ay, — and may never come back. 
And, whether I come or not, I will never teach again : so that I am 
now saying good-by to you as my school-children. 

“ There is one thing I want you to remember ; and so I shall tell 
you once more : a man need not be rude in order to be brave, nor a 
woman untrue in order to be lovely. 

“ But what I now wish most to say to you is this : that I have 
never been able to forget who you are, never to forget the kind of men 
and women your fathers and mothers were and that you, their children, 
should grow up to be. I am not speaking so much to those whose 
parents have not been long in Kentucky as to those whose parents 
were the first to fight for the land until it was safe for others to 
follow and share it. Let me tell you that nothing just like that was 
ever or anywhere done before in all this world. And if, as I sit here 
and look down on you, I can’t help seeing that, although you are so 
young and your parents should be so young, this one of you has no 
father, and this one no mother, and this one neither father nor mother, 
and that almost none of you have both, still I cannot help saying, 
Happy, happy children ! not that you have lost them, but that they 
were such to lose ! 

“All of you are still too young to know what they have done, 
or how the whole world will some day speak of them. Still, you can 
understand some things. For nowadays when you go to your homes 
at night, you can lie down and sleep without fear ; and the oldest 
among you can well remember the time when no one could do that. 


698 


JOHN GRAY. 


Or in the morning when you watch your fathers go oft to their 
work, and your mothers about theirs, and you go about yours, you 
can feel sure that you will all be together again at nightfall, — not one 
missing. 

“ And then only think that by the time you are men and women, 
Kentucky will no longer be the great wilderness you now live in. 
There will be thousands and thousands of people scattered over it ; 
and the forest will be cut down, — can you ever believe that? — cut 
through and through, leaving some trees here and some trees there. 
And all the cane will be cut down : can you believe that? And the 
buffalo will be gone, and wild-cats, and bear, and wolves, and instead 
of these there will be flocks of the whitest sheep, with little lambs 
frisking about on the green spring meadows ; and under the big shady 
trees in the pastures there will be herds of red cattle, so gentle and 
with backs so soft and broad that you could almost stretch yourself 
out and go to sleep on them, and their mouths would never stop chew- 
ing the cuds. Only think of it ! Only think of it! Only think of 
the hundreds of orchards with their apple-blossoms, and of the big 
ripe golden apples on the trees in the fall ! It will be one of the 
quietest, sweetest, loveliest, gentlest lands that a people ever owned ; 
and this is the gift to you of your fathers who fought for it and of 
your mothers who fought for it also. And you must never forget that 
you would never have had such fathers, had you not had such mothers 
to stand by them and to die with them. 

“ This is what I have wished to teach you more than anything in 
your books, — that you may become men and women worthy of them 
and of what they have left you. I am not a Kentuckian myself ; but 
it was what I heard of them that drew me away out here ; and I have 
wished that while I lived in their country and taught their children I 
might not do them any wrong. 

“ But I have talked to you a long time ; and now good-by ! My 
children, my friends, my brave little men and women of Kentucky, 
good-by, and may God bless you ! I wish you long and happy lives, 
and I hope we may all meet again.” 

They started forward and swarmed toward him ; only, as the fore- 
most rose, little Jennie, with one last mighty action of defiant joy, 
hurled her arithmetic out of the window ; and a chubby-cheeked vete- 
ran on the end of the bench produced a big red apple from between his 
legs and went into it with a smack of gastric rapture that made his 
toes curl and sent his swift glance to the rafters. They swarmed on 
him, and he folded his arms around the littler ones and kissed them ; 
the older boys, brown and barefoot, stepping sturdily forward one 
by one and holding out a strong hand that closed on his and held it, 
their eyes answering his sometimes with clear calm trust and fond- 
ness, sometimes lowered and full of tears; other little hands resting on 
each of his^ shoulders, waiting for their turns. Then there were little 
echoes in his ears, — sweet gay voices out in the open air dying away 
in one direction and another, — and then — silence, — himself alone, — 
school-master no longer. 


JOHN GRAY. 


699 


IX. 

THE POETRY OF EARTH. 

The end of June at last, and the day of the wedding. 

According to the usage of the time, the ceremony had taken place 
early in the forenoon, in order that the guests, gathered in from distant 
settlements of the wilderness, might have the day for festivity and yet 
reach home before the perils of the night. Late in the afternoon the 
bridal couple, escorted by many friends, were to ride into town to 
Joseph’s house, and in the evening there was to be a house-warming. 

Gray had not gone to the wedding. He had his excuses and his 
reasons. It was the day of his leaving for Philadelphia and Mount 
Vernon, and he spent the forenoon busily enough in settling his affairs. 
There was a pack to be got ready for the saddle of his horse ; his 
books were to be judiciously divided, — part going to the nucleus of the 
Transylvania Library, a few volumes left to the Reverend James Moore 
with his compliments, and the copy of “ Romeo and Juliet” to the 
young lady who loved Mercutio. 

At intervals in his preparations there reached him from the street 
the gay voices of those on horseback or in gigs going out to the wed- 
ding. Once the noisiest of all groups came along; and, looking out, 
he saw Joseph go by with a company of young friends, dressed in his 
wedding-suit, and looking never so happy, proud, and handsome. 

Joseph’s house had been finished for the simple scant needs of 
pioneer life. But scarcely was the bridegroom out of earshot, before 
many who had variously excused themselves from the wedding began 
to issue from their homes and move toward it : women, young and old, 
carrying rolls of linen and loaves of bread ; and boys with huge joints 
of jerked meat and dried tongues of the buffalo, bear, and deer ; there 
was a noggin, a piggin, a churn, and a home-made chair; there was a 
quilt from a grandmother, and a pioneer cradle, — a mere trough scooped 
out of a walnut log; an old pioneer sent the antlers of a stag for a hat- 
rack, and a mighty buffalo rug for the young pair to lie warm under 
of bitter winter nights; there came a spinning-wheel, and a bundle of 
shingles for johnny-cakes ; some of the merchants sent packages of 
Philadelphia groceries; and some of the aristocratic families parted 
with priceless heirlooms that had been laboriously brought over the Alle- 
ghanies, — a cup and saucer of Sevres, a pair of tall brass candlesticks, 
and a Venus-mirror framed in ebony. 

It was about three o’clock in the afternoon when John Gray, having 
jumped on the back of a strong trusty horse at the stable of the Indian 
Queen, and leaned over to shake again the hands of the friends who had 
met there to see him off, turned his horse’s head in the direction of the 
path that led to the Wilderness road, and was soon out of sight of the 
town. 

But when he had gone about a mile, he struck into the forest at 
right angles, and rode across the country until he reached that green 
woodland pathway which led from the home of the Falconers to the 
public road between Lexington and Frankfort. About fifty yards from 
this he tied his horse, and, walking forward, sat down on the roots of 


700 


JOHN GRAY. 


a red oak and waited for the bridal procession to pass. He had said 
to himself that he would like to see her — see them all — for the last 
time, remaining himself unseen. 

It was a day when the poetry of earth makes itself felt on the sen- 
sitive soul like ravishing music that has no sound. The air, warm and 
full of dying and of new-born fragrance, was of that ethereal untinged 
clearness which spread over all things the softness of velvet : the far- 
vaulted heavens, so bountiful of light, were an illimitable weightless 
curtain of pale-blue velvet; the rolling clouds were of white velvet; 
near at hand the grass, the stems of bending wild flowers, the low- 
drooping sprays of foliage, were so many forms of purest emerald- 
colored velvet ; the gnarled, rough trunks of the trees were of gray 
and brown velvet ; the wings and breasts of the birds, flitting hither 
and thither high above, were of gold and scarlet velvet ; the butterflies 
were stemless, floating velvet blossoms. 

As he waited, living in all beautiful things, drawing life from all 
beautiful things, his enjoyment was the more vivid for the sharpness 
of the pain he felt in the separation. “ Farewell, Kentucky ! fare- 
well !” he said in his heart. “ If I never see you again, on my part 
there is nothing but peace and love between us.” 

Two hours passed. The cool shadows were swinging round and 
lengthening eastward. Over the vast billowy expanse of forest, like 
the sigh of a passing spirit, there swept from out the west the first faint 
intimation of waning light and the fond mysteries of coming darkness. 
Soon afterwards there reached his impatient ear from far down the 
woodland path the sounds of voices and laughter, — again and again, — 
gradually louder and louder, — and then through the low dense boughs 
he caught glimpses of them coming, now beneath the darker arches of 
the ancient trees, now across pale-green spaces shot by slanting sun- 
beams. Suddenly there was a halt and a great merry outcry. Long 
wild grape-vines from opposite sides of the road had been festooned 
across it, and this barrier ©f rustic pleasantry had to be cut through. 
Then on they came again. 

At the head of the procession, William Penn in the glory of a new 
bridle and saddle, with a blanket of crimson cloth ; his coat smooth as 
satin, his mane a tumbling cataract of white silk ; bunches of wild 
roses at his ears ; his blue-black eyes never so soft, and seeming for 
once in his life to lift his feet cautiously, like an elephant bearing an 
Indian princess. 

They were riding side by side and close together, the young pair, 
now husband and wife, Joseph keeping one hand on the pommel of her 
saddle, and using his ha-t as a fan with the other, while he kept his 
laughing face turned toward her ; she radiant with the sense of her 
loveliness and the security of her happiness, and radiant also perhaps 
from some feeble intuition that with such an event the poetry of earth 
sounds its highest, briefest strain, — the joy that begins to die ere it 
lives, but, being dead, lives changeless in the unforgetful heart, — the 
joy of love that is doomed to perish in the bliss of its own realization. 

Next rode the major and Mrs. Falconer, he thinking of Rosa- 
lind and regretting that Shakespeare had not seen this wood before he 


JOHN GRAY. 


701 


described the forest of Arden, she thinking of John Gray. Then the 
Reverend James Moore and the widow Spurlock, she privately noticing 
how shapely the parson looked on horseback, he with his cool face 
turned toward the tree-tops, but with his dreamy eyes fixed inward on 
the depths of his logical soul. Then Mr. Horatio Turpin and Miss 
Kitty Poythress, he telling Kitty that at the next purse race he was 
going to run his s. f. Amethyst, by Emerald, dam Mother of Pearl, 
she musing how on her wedding-day she would never look so lovely as 
Amy. And then came others, until at the very end of the procession 
side by side rode Peter and the young widow Babcock, he openly aflame 
and solicitous, she coy and — well advised. For a good many years had 
yet to pass before the widow became Mrs. Springle. This did not 
happen, indeed, until several months after she had in spiritual gratitude 
kissed the Reverend James Moore and had later listened to his heart- 
searching sermon on the Kiss that Betray eth ; and by that time Peter, 
despite all the illustrious New Jersey traditions, was a blacksmith no 
longer, but a prosperous Lexington hardware-merchant. 

It was one of the jests of life that the man whose jest had helped 
to bring all this about should not have been there to laugh, but lay far 
away in a mound under a low green elm, unremembered. 

They passed, and the sounds of their laughter died away through 
the forest, — passed on to the town awaiting them, to the house-warming, 
and, please God, to long life and real affection and happiness. 

Once he had expected to ride beside her at the head of this proces- 
sion, and there had now gone by him the vision of his own life as it 
was to have been. 

Long after the last sound had died away in the distance, he was 
still sitting at the root of the red oak. A loud impatient neigh from 
his horse aroused him. He sprang lightly up, meaning to ride all night 
and not to draw rein until he had crossed the Kentucky River and 
reached Traveller’s Rest, the home of Governor Shelby. 


X. 

THE END WILL COME. 

It was early in the autumn when the first news came back to Lex- 
ington from John Gray, and this had relation to his business at Mount 
Vernon. To the Transylvania Library Committee he wrote that the 
President had made a liberal subscription for the buying of books ; and 
he added some notes of a conversation with him concerning Kentucky 
politics. 

“ When I made known to the President who I was and where I 
came from,” he wrote in his letter, “ he regarded me with a look at once 
so searching and benign, and his countenance was so tinged with grav- 
ity amounting to sadness, that I felt like one of my own school-boys 
overtaken in some small rascality, and was almost of a mind to march 
straight to a corner of the room and stand with my face to the wall. 
From the conversation that followed I am led truly to believe that he 
knew the name of every member of the Democratic Society of Lexing- 


702 


JOHN GRAY. 


ton, my own included, and that he understood Kentucky affairs with 
regard to national and international complications as no other living 
man. While questioning me on the subject he had the manner of one 
who, for the sake of pure conscientiousness, would verify facts which he 
had already ascertained to be correct. But what impressed me even 
more than his knowledge was his justice: in illustration of which I 
shall never forget his saying, with a manner of profound regret but of 
the deepest respect, that the part which Kentucky had taken, or had 
wished to take, in the Spanish and the French conspiracy had caused 
him greater solicitude than any other single event since the founda- 
tion of the national government ; but that nowhere else in America or 
perhaps in the world had the struggle for immediate self-government 
been at once so necessary and so difficult, and that nowhere else were 
the mistakes of patriotic and able men more natural or more to be 
judged with mildness. There could be no question in any fair mind 
that the President means kindly and wisely toward all of you over 
there beyond the mountains; and in fact he said that his interest in 
Kentucky dated from the time when as a young man he surveyed land 
along its eastern border for Lord Fairfax at a doubloon a day. 

“ I am frank to declare that, having enjoyed the privilege of a long 
conversation with the President and been brought to judge rightly what 
through ignorance I had judged amiss, I feel myself in honor bound to 
renounce my past political convictions and to resign the secretaryship 
of the Lexington Democratic Society. Nor shall I join the Democratic 
Society of Philadelphia, as had been my ardent wish.” 

To Mrs. Falconer he wrote : 

“ I have crossed the Kentucky Alps and seen the American Csesar 
and carried away some of his gold. I came, I saw, I begged. How 
do you think I met the President? Wearing a red, white, and blue 
toga of the thirteen States, and sitting on an ivory throne under the 
screaming eagle? The truth is, as I was riding toward Mount Vernon 
one quiet sunny afternoon, I unexpectedly came upon an old gentleman 
who was putting up some bars that opened into a wheat- field by the 
roadside. He wore plain drab clothes, a broad-brimmed white hat, and 
had a hickory switch in his hand, with an umbrella and a long staff 
attached to his saddle-bow, but with limbs so long, large, and sinewy, 
a countenance so lofty, masculine, and contemplative, and altogether 
with a statue-like air so instantly creating veneration akin to awe, that 
my heart with a great throb cried out, It is Washington ! I have 
eaten corn-cakes and milk with him since, and I wish that food could 
do for me what it does for him ... I must not fail to narrate a singu- 
lar and memorable occurrence of my visit. I had got mvself up extra 
early the next morning, — a feat not hard to do, since for that one night 
I had chosen not to waste any time in sleep, but to lie awake and think 
of nothing but the President. Having put on my clothes and de- 
scended to the front hall, — the doors being already open to let in the 
fresh air, — I passed out, wishing to see the grounds and the garden. 
Several turns I had taken along the walks of the latter, when from 
behind some bushes a few yards in front of me there issued tottering 
along a rather aged lady, who held in her yellow hand some withered 


JOHN GRAY. 


703 


leaves and a red rose from which nearly all the petals had fallen. She 
must have been near-sighted, for she came tottering toward me with a 
rather giddy smile of deep self-absorption ; but a few feet off she pulled 
herself up with a start and craned her neck forward at me as if peer- 
ing into the darkness. Then, seeming satisfied with her examination, 
she said good-morning, and asked whether I liked to see the sun rise. 
Being answered that I did, she next inquired whether I thought that 
God was good. Being assured that this was my faith and humble hope, 
she asked whether I did not think that vice was wicked and virtue pref- 
erable. Being given to understand that I had ever courageously enter- 
tained these views, she appeared highly pleased with the docility of my 
morals, and said that, this being the case, she would tell me a beautiful 
story of the President : how once when he was about six years old his 
father had made him the wealthy owner of a little hatchet. But, on re- 
flection, I will write this story out for you on separate paper, so that you 
may possess it to preserve after you have destroyed my worthless letter. 

“ My dear friend,” he wrote at the close, “ it is of no little worth to 
me that I should have come to Mount Vernon at this turning-point of 
my life. Touching the low state of mind in which I left Lexington 
on account of what had happened not long before, you laid me under 
the pledge of as frank speech as my heart should need ; and there is 
good need, I tell you, that, having upon invitation prolonged my visit 
here by three full days, I find myself uplifted to a plane of thought and 
feeling higher than has ever been trod by me. When I began to draw 
near this place, I seemed to be mounting higher and higher, like a man 
ascending a mountain ; and ever since my arrival there has been this 
same sense of ascending into a still loftier atmosphere, of surveying a 
vaster horizon, of beholding the juster relations of surrounding objects. 

“ All this feeling has its origin in my contemplation of the character 
of the President. You know that when a heavy sleet falls upon the 
Kentucky forest the great trees crack and split, or groan and stagger, 
with branches snapped off or broken and trailing. But he is to me a 
vast mountain-peak, always calm, always lofty, always resting upon 
a base that nothing can shake; never higher, never lower, never 
changing; from every quarter of the earth storms rush in and beat 
upon him, but when they have passed, there he is just as he was; 
the heavens empty their sleets and snows on his head, but these make 
him look only the purer, only the more sublime. 

“ From the spectacle of this great man thus bearing the great bur- 
dens of his great life, I have grown ashamed of how poorly I have 
borne the burdens of mine. A new standard of what is possible to 
human nature has been raised within my spirit; for I have seen with 
my own eyes a man whom the adverse forces of the world have not been 
able to wreck, — a lover of perfection, who has so wrought it out in his 
character that to know him is to be awed into reverence of his virtues. 
I came to him in the lowest state of discouragement ; but I shall go 
away from him with nobler hopes of what I may do and be in this life 
than I have ever had before.” 

When the next news was received from Gray, he was in Philadel- 
phia, giving his attention to the choosing and shipment of the books 


704 


JOHN GRAY. 


for the library ; and after the lapse of the several months required for 
their bringing on, they were put down in Lexington (nor have many 
volumes been added during the hundred years since they arrived). 
About this time he wrote to Mrs. Falconer that his expectation of 
coming into possession of several thousand dollars by bequest had been 
unwarranted, for the case had been appealed ; and some months later 
he wrote that it had finally been lost. 

During that winter he must have been miserably poor; for toward 
spring he begged her pardon for having had to let a pair of mittens, 
lined with lamb’s wool, go for a night’s lodging and breakfast. “ 1 
tell you this,” he said, “ because I promised to let you know the whole 
truth as to how I was faring. My dear friend, I should not have 
parted with your gift, only the night air was piercing, a cold had 
reached my lungs, and I knew the most precious use of the mittens — 
which I had always prized too much even to wear — would be to buy 
me a warm bed and some food.” 

Months afterwards came the news that he was in the office of a law 
firm. Then for a long time no tidings. Then several letters in quick 
succession, — short letters with a different ring in them, the undertone 
of melancholy now dying out and in its place a certain developing note 
of happiness. At long intervals during the two years following, more 
hurried messages, with promises to write at length, which were never 
fulfilled except by other promises just as brief. But she understood : 
they were all she wanted. She knew that he was fighting the battle 
of his life now, — fighting it with all his might and fighting victori- 
ously. Another year, and there came the card of a new firm, — “ Brown 
and Gray,” — and the following autumn a long letter from him, and 
an invitation to his wedding. 

She shed tears over the invitation. For days they were in her eyes 
whenever she took it up and saw the names together, — John Gray and 
Eleanor Warner. It had always been a conviction of hers that if he 
married the wrong kind of woman he would be ruined ; and she felt 
tempted to undertake the journey to Philadelphia to see whether he 
were now making a second mistake. 

For the first time in her life she felt hurt and angry with him ; for, 
although his letter was full of the old affection, he wrote not one word 
of the woman he was to marry. She walked the room with his letter 
in one hand and the invitation in the other. 

“ He is like every other man,” she complained to herself aloud, 

“ to go off and forget that I wanted to know all about it and about 
her , — where he met her, and how he asked her, and who she is, and 
how he felt about it this time !” 

During the next few years she heard almost nothing ; and her sole 
means of discovering the truth about him were those rare hasty notes 
which seemed to result from a mere habit of faithfully setting up a 
mile-stone for her to mark how he got along on the highway of life. 
At times it appeared to her that the mile-posts were getting closer 
together now, and the Philadelphia papers had a way of referring to 
him as “ Judge Gray,” as though everybody knew who Judge Gray 
was; and by and by came other papers, — yes, other papers, — an- 


JOHN GRAY. 


705 


nouncing the birth of children. God knows she had a hard cry over 
the first of these ! 

Then Major Falconer died, and that brought the longest letter she 
had ever had from John. It was like putting a staff into her hand ; 
after she had read it, she was never able to feel otherwise than that he 
had come into her lonely house to live with her and was always there, 
— though elsewhere. With his was a letter from Eleanor Gray also ; 
and when she had read that, she folded it to her heart amid burning 
tears. 

Both pressed her to come and be at home with them henceforth for 
good, — not to come as though torn up with the idea of being replanted, 
but as though lifted noiselessly up in her own rocking-chair and set down 
softly in another place. She should have her room, her furniture, her 
servant, her books, her ways and wishes, everything as nearly as pos- 
sible ; they would come out for her and relieve her of all care in 
moving. 

“ I should like to be with you,” she wrote in reply, “ but already I 
have lived two lives, and it is now too late to begin a third. It would 
be like putting very new wine into very old bottles : indeed, it would 
be like trying to make the fleece grow back again on a shorn sheep.” 

After this the years went fast. Faster still came the changes in 
Kentucky. The prophecy which John Gray had made in the farewell 
to his children passed to its realization, and reality followed far beyond 
it. From over the green summits of the Alleghanies on the west, 
down the green shores of the Ohio on the east, settlers of the Anglo- 
Saxon blood hurried into the great tranquil land, and there jostled and 
shouldered one another in the fierce old race-spirit and selfish passion 
of soil-winning and home-building, until a stout foot had been planted 
on every slope and a warning hand laid on every tree. Lexington, the 
pioneer outpost consisting of a wooden castle and a few log huts outside 
its walls, became the manufacturing town of the Western civilization, 
with streets thronged by rich merchants and fur-clad traders; gathered 
into it were men and women making a society so notable that it began 
to call itself by a name that is now used only as a pointed jest; at its 
bar were heard illustrious voices, the echoes of which are not yet dead, 
are past all dying; the genius of Jouett found for itself the secret of 
painting canvases so lustrous, fine, and true that never since then in 
the history of the State have they been equalled ; the Transylvania 
University arose with lecturers great enough to be known throughout 
America and Europe; and the students of law and medicine hurried to 
it from all parts of the land. 

It was of changes such as these that Mrs. Falconer was thinking as 
one cool afternoon in early autumn she was walking slowly around her 
garden, — slowly, because she was an old woman now, and because the 
work of her life was done and there was no longer need to hurry. She 
had just come from town, where she had been to the studio of Jouett, 
to give him a last sitting for her portrait, and she was dressed in that 
rich lace cap and satin gown in which he painted her, as those who see 
the portrait nowadays well know. 

Vol. XLIX.— 45 


706 


JOHN GRAY. 


She was thinking of these changes : of the dark dreadful year in 
which she had come with the major into the Kentucky wilderness ; 
of the years of terror, loneliness, and hardship that had followed ; and 
of how pleasant life was really getting to be, now that for her it would 
soon be over. She had grown rich by the product of her looms and 
by the sale of part of her lands ; she had her Africans to work for her ; 
she gave her dinners now and then ; indeed, her dinner to Aarou 
Burr some years before had reminded even her of the elegance of civ- 
ilization. Yes ! as happens to so many of us, just when the terrible 
battle of life had been really won, the time had about come for the 
soldier to fall asleep. 

But perhaps it was the finishing of the portrait that had peculiarly 
saddened her to-day. When Jouett had gently said, “ And now, madam, 
I do not need you longer, because I have you already/’ it had seemed 
to her as though she had been dismissed as useless, and that the portrait 
was all that remained of her in life, as in time it would be. 

She meant to leave this portrait to John Gray ; and it was on him 
also that her thoughts and memories rested. 

But in all these years had she ever walked in her garden without 
remembering him ? Although it was wholly changed, did she not know 
that she was now looking towards the very spot where one sweet after- 
noon in May, long, long ago, he had leaned over the picket fence — his 
big black hat, decorated with a Jacobin cockade, swinging in his hand 
— and had asked her consent to marry Amy ? Was not yonder the 
maple, on a little bench under the shade of which he and she sat some 
weeks later, and, while she had watched over her left shoulder to see 
whether the Indians were creeping up on them, she had talked with him 
about the ideals of life ? She laughed softly to herself at recalling that 
scene, but she touched her handkerchief to her eyes also as she turned 
to pass on. Then she stopped abruptly. 

Coming straight down the garden-walk toward her with a light 
rapid step, his head in the air, a frank smile on his fresh face, an eager 
earnest look in his gray eyes, was a young fellow of some eighteen 
years. A few feet off he lifted his hat with a free gallant air, uncovering 
a head of dark-red hair, closely curling. 

“ I beg your pardon, madam,” he said, in a voice that fell on her 
ear like a strain of music new yet seeming long remembered. “ Is 
this Mrs. Falconer?” 

“ Yes,” she replied, beginning to tremble, “ I am Mrs. Falconer.” 

u Then I should like to introduce myself to you, dear madam. I 
am John Gray, the son of your old friend, and my father sends me 
to you with his faithful love, and desires me to deliver to vou this 
letter.” 

“John Gray!” she cried, running up close to him and searching 
his face. u I ou John Gray ! You /” And she threw her arms around 
his neck and covered his face with kisses. 

Madam, said the impudent young fellow, stooping to pick up 
his hat, and laughing outright at his own blushes and confusion, “ I 
don’t wonder that my father loved you.” 

“I «ever kissed your father in my life!” she retorted, “ though I 


JOHN GRAY. 707 

may have wished to!” And beneath the wrinkled ivory of her skin a 
tinge of faintest pink rose and disappeared. 

Half an hour later she was sitting at a western window of her room. 
Young John Gray had insisted with a decisive air of business that he 
must himself go back to town to see to his trunk and to post an imme- 
diate letter to his father and mother, announcing his safe arrival ; and 
in her lap lay his father’s letter to her, which with tremulous fingers 
she was now wiping her spectacles to read. In all this lapse of years 
she had never allowed herself to think of her John Gray as having 
grown older : she saw him still young, as when he used to lean over 
the garden fence. But now the presence of this son had the effect of 
suddenly pushing the father away on into life; and her tears flowed 
silently with the first realization that he, too, must have passed the 
climbing-point and have set his feet on that shaded downward slope 
that leads to the quiet valley. 

“ My dear friend,” for thus the letter ran in part, “ I send John to 
you with the hope that you will be to the son the same inspiring soul 
vou once were to the father. You will find him a little headstrong and 
with great notions of what he is to be in the world. * But he is warm- 
hearted and clean-hearted. Let him do for you the things I used to 
do : let him hold the yarn on his arms for you to wind off, and read to 
you your favorite novels ; he is a good reader for a young fellow. And 
will you get out your spinning-wheel some night when the logs are 
roaring in the fireplace and let him hear its music? Will you some 
time with your own hands make him a johnny-cake on a new pine 
shingle? I want him to know a woman who can do all these things 
and still be a great lady. And lay upon him all the burdens that in 
any way you can, so that he shall not think too much of what he may 
some day do in life, but of what he is actually doing. 

“ From John you will learn what you may wish to know regarding 
his mother. Many a time within these years I myself have sat down 
to write to you of Eleanor, but I could never do so ; time and again 
before we were married I endeavored to give you my confidence, but 
the letters would never quite justify themselves. In all your own 
letters you have never once mentioned the subject, since I have not ; 
and your very silence has let me know how you reproached me for 
mine. But after what had happened between us I could never feel 
otherwise than that what I should say to you of Eleanor would be like 
a report, forwarded for your inspection ; and I could not bear the 
thought of subjecting her to that. I doubt whether we ever subject 
any one we love to the critical examination of another. Not that I 
should have feared your censure, but that I should have resented your 
approval. Yes; that is the truth: under the circumstances I should 
have resented your praise of Eleanor. Therefore I have always faith- 
fully let you know that I have been happy, and have left you silently 
to infer from my happiness the virtues of her character. But I know 
that you will never question John about his mother unless I ask you to 
do so; and I now beg that you will do this. For reasons which you 
understand, the portrait of her painted by the hand of a son will be 
more significant than one from the hand of her husband. 


708 


JOHN GRAY. 


“ While I say that I am happy, still it is true that I have within 
me the old sense of a ruin , — a feeling that something went wrong when 
that whole episode happened to me in Kentucky, for which nothing has 
ever atoned. So that you see I am but little changed. And as for the 
imperfection of life itself, while I have always grown happier in what 
it can bestow, in secret I have become the more unhappy for what it 
takes away. And surely from all of us it does take away more or less 
of what was best in us at the outset. I could never be happy in a 
world in which I was imperfect myself and in which any single creature 
was suffering. Long ago there came to me, as you foretold, the ideals 
of actual duty that I should carry about as candles in my hand ; but 
I have never lost sight of those other ideals which shine like light- 
houses in the distance. I have this feeling, — that I shall need my 
light-houses when I no longer need my candles. For experience ad- 
monishes me that I am now perhaps at the highest point of what men 
call worldly prosperity. I have succeeded. I have wrought out the 
plan of my life. All that Macbeth had not I have, — wife, children, 
home, friends, duties, honors, ease; all are mine. There have been 
times when with natural misgiving, lest I had ventured too far these 
many summers in a sea of glory, I have prepared for myself the lament 
of Wolsey on his fall ; yet ill fortune has not overthrown me or mine. 

“ But what of that? Not far ahead now must lie the great mortal 
changes, coming always nearer, always faster. And with the cessation 
of every earthly tie, the flame of duty connected with it is extinguished. 
One by one the duties end ; one by one the lights go out. So that if 
I should live to be a very old man, I shall find myself with no duties, 
no candles. And then, O my friend, what should shine in upon me in 
my vacant darkness but those distant unchanging beacons, which seem 
to throw their rays across the stormy sea of this life from the calm 
ocean of the infinite? This is my faith; for truly I do not know 
whence came to me the ideals of my earliest manhood, if not from a 
source beyond all humanity. 

“ It has always been a regret that you could not come to us. When 
I left Kentucky, it was with the thought of sooner or later returning; 
but for the first few years return was impossible ; then I married ; and 
Eleanor has always had duties here. But we get great reports of the 
Transylvania University, of the bar of Lexington, of the civilization 
that I foresaw would spring up in Kentucky ; and I send John to you 
with the wish that he hear lectures and afterwards go into the office of 
some one whom I shall name, and finally marry and settle there for life. 
You recall this as the wish of my own; through John, then, I shall 
accomplish it, — through John shall be done what I could not do. You 
see how I cling to my early fancies ! I have given him the names of 
my school-children. He is to find out those of them who still live 
there, and to tell me of those who have passed away or have been 
scattered. 

“ I do not know ; but if at the end of life I should be left alone 
here, perhaps I shall make my way back to Kentucky and die at John’s 
feet, as the old tree falls beside the young one.” 

She had strained the letter to her dim eyes in the last glimmer of 


JOHN GRAY. 


709 


twilight. The room was already dark, except near the rude little four- 
paned window. There was the dull red glow of a single half-burnt log 
on the hearth, and a cricket stirred and began its song, — that song for 
ears that have lost their summer. From out a corner came the feeble 
ticking of the great clock. 

She let the letter drop softly to her lap, and, folding her delicate 
withered hands on the window-sill, rested her forehead on them in 
prayer. 


THE END. 


710 


EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES . 



EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES. 

[journalist series.] 

B ETWEEN forty and fifty years ago the most famous feature of 
journalism in the Ohio Valley was the paragraphing of George D. 
Prentice, a Connecticut Yankee born, who had become a typical Ken- 
tuckian, and was the most brilliant Whig and the brightest writer of 
his time, — one who adored Henry Clay, took all the lofty egotism of 
that superb dramatic politician seriously, was full of faith that Clay’s 
statesmanship had the divine flavor and blessing, and that his chival- 
rous individuality had an alluring quality that made his election to the 
Presidency, in spite of the evident glacial drift of history, as obvious 
and inevitable as the harvest-time and the season of autumnal realiza- 
tion in the procession of the seasons. The dreary round of disappoint- 
ments ended at last. Clay, in the Senate, made his final failing efforts 
to avert the conflict of the sections. His sympathy with the society 
of the South alienated his loving supporters in the North. His im- 
perious will ceased to dominate his party ; and he died. This event 
was a revolution. After him came the deluge. 

Mr. Clay knew little of journalism. The chief duty of the news- 
paper of his party in his day was to publish his speeches, and editorial 
ability was most worthily employed in expounding and expanding his 
utterances. 

The Ohio editor whose fame was paramount in the forties and 
fifties was Charles Hammond, of the Cincinnati Gazette , and the singu- 


EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES. 


711 


larly vivid survival of 1 1 is reputation has been held to be an embarrass- 
ment to his successors, as the traditions of uncommon glory overshadow 
the sober realities of history. Once, seeking to know for myself the 
origin of Mr. Hammond’s persistent prominence, I examined a file of 
the Cincinnati Gazette , and found that he was for fifteen successive 
issues of that paper absorbed in setting forth the full meaning and 
declaring the profound and glittering policy embodied in Henry Clay’s 
sonorous, but, I feared, read in the cold light of a quarter of a century 
gone, commonplace utterances, in which the pomp of self-assertion 
exceeded the prescience of political acumen. There lingered, however, 
an anecdote of Hammond that proved he possessed something more 
than a deep sense of the dignities and solemnities of his profession. 
He and Robert T. Lytle, the most accomplished Democrat of his day 
in Ohio, — father of General Lytle the poet-hero, who fell at Chick- 
amauga, — had been out on a long walk, inspecting the pickets and 
exploring the frontiers of Cincinnati civilization, when it occurred to 
the editor of the Gazette that he was expected to furnish a leader for 
the following day and must make haste to do so. Lytle, loath to part 
with such good company, followed him, making an unaccustomed 
appearance in a Whig office. The shades of night were falling fast. 
Lytle patiently held a candle while Hammond wrote rapidly for nearly 
an hour, when, with an expression of gratification that his work was 
well done, he thanked his friend for his polite and gracious attention, 
called a printer, handed him the copy, mentioned that he did not care 
to see the proof, and the two distinguished gentlemen resumed their 
promenade and finished the festival. It occurred to Lytle next day 
that he would look into the Gazette and see what had been produced 
by the pen of a ready writer while he held the candle; and, to his 
surprise, and disgust that gradually became amusement, he found that 
it was a very bright and, he thought, extravagantly overdone, though 
not absolutely malicious, assault upon himself, in which his short- 
comings as a politician were unsparingly reviewed, but his personal 
cleverness, with a funny pretence of reluctance, admitted. 

Of Hammond, however, it might be written, as of Edgar Allan 
Poe’s knightly hero, — 

But he grew old, this knight so bold, 

and the bright particular star of the press in the firmament of the 
valley of the Ohio was Prentice, of the Louisville Journal. 

His best work was in dashes of from two to ten lines, each 
with a “ fist.” The leaders were unrivalled as leaders, but they had 
not the keen sparkle of the inexhaustible Prentice paragraphs. His 
poems also had many fond readers, and he had a following of poets 
and poetesses whose efforts he carried with a few flattering and taking 
lines for each poetic gem ; and it would have been unsafe to say that 
they were not all gems. There must have been at times a dozen ladies, 
each with the gift of song, contributing to the beautifully-printed pages 
of the Journal of Louisville, and they never contributed lines, few or 
many, that they were not framed in words of editorial praise, always 


712 


EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES. 


pleasant and felicitous ; and the poetry of the paper was held to be as 
valuable an attraction as its politics. 

Prentice had been in his youth associated with John G. Whittier, 
and he transplanted the passion for high-class production from the 
banks of the Connecticut to those of the Ohio, where the fruits were 
of a richer perfume and more tropical, but lacked the lyric ring and the 
lofty cry for liberty that have lifted Whittier to an elevation inaccessible 
save to those who have the expression that goes beyond the range of 
talent into the realms of the masters, and is dutifully, passionately 
consecrated and exercised for humanity. 

Mr. Clay would have astonished any one who had attempted to 
“ interview” him. His idea of journalism was that the newspapers were 
not worth minding in the hostilities they directed against a public man, 
unless they touched unkindly upon his personal habits and private 
affairs ; then it was necessary that some one should be held accountable, 
and the trouble of locating responsibility began. The papers that 
knew their leader were a convenience, but they should be careful how 
they published a great man’s speeches. Indeed, the last time that Mr. 
Clay mounted the stump at Lexington he refused to speak until the 
reporter of the Associated Press, who happened to be Mr. Richard 
Smith, now of the Cincinnati Commercial Gazette , was compelled not 
only to drop his pencil, but to leave the ground. The impertinence 
of sitting right before an orator addressing his constituents, and taking 
down his words, was resented, and had to be abandoned. Mr. Smith’s 
success in obtaining a fair summary from a listener who knew politics 
and had a good verbal memory and took no notes was looked upon as 
an outrageous example of presumption. The wrath of Mr. Clay at 
the disrespectful idea of an irresponsible writer for unknown news- 
papers undertaking to give what he said with the view of scattering it 
by telegraph, and not asking his permission, was lively, and his lan- 
guage picturesque. 

After the politics and poetry of Prentice and his contributors, and 
the death of Clay, there grew up a school of journalism that was 
devoted to Western literature and political regeneration, or there were 
those in it that so explained their mission. 

The Mexican war, meant to extend the area of slavery and the 
dominion of Democracy, furnished a hero in Zachary Taylor, who, as 
the Whig candidate, was elected to the Presidency, and the era of a 
great reformation set in, as was supposed. Taylor was a strong South- 
ern man and a large and humane slave-holder, but his devotion to the 
Union was unqualified, and he simply made known in the most matter- 
of-fact way to those who were talking of, under circumstances freely 
fancied and discussed, the dissolution of the Union, that if they at- 
tempted such a thing, no matter what happened, he would take the 
field at the head of the army of the United States, and shoot and hang 
according to the guilt of those who took up arms against their united 
country ; and the highest praise awarded him was by those who felt 
themselves menaced,— that he would be “just fool enough to do so.” 

The old man certainly produced a temporary abatement of section- 
alism. The death of Taylor, from eating cherry pie after a sunstroke 


EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES. 


713 


received while laying the foundation of the Washington Monument, 
confused the country, and in the course of the agitation there were 
experiences such as no one had imagined, for the strength of the forces 
in antagonism had not been developed, and were amazingly beyond 
calculation ; and the nation never knew its own greatness until it had 
been made manifest in the war of the States. 

There was a time when it seemed to many ardent friends in the 
central valley of the country that the peace and dignity of the Union 
depended upon the election of Thomas Corwin to be President of the 
United States. Corwin, like Clay, was a man of genius, with less will 
but greater wit than his old leader. With the most genial temper 
and fascinating speech of his time, he was rich in humor and gracious 
with wisdom, but he was not destined to be President; and indeed the 
editorial writing meant to advance his interest was of a feeble sort, 
dwelling chiefly upon the observance as a sacred obligation of what 
was called the “ Compromises of the Constitution” and the wickedness 
of despoiling our sister republic, Mexico, of her territory to provide 
more slave States. 

All sentimentality about the rights of the Mexicans to land was 
wiped out by considerations of the glory of our arms in overcoming 
military antagonism, the addition of the noble realm of Texas to our 
undisputed empire, the discovery of gold in California, and the sensi- 
bility that Jefferson’s Louisiana purchase had originally included all we 
got from Mexico by conquest. 

The people of the North were growing weary of the alleged obliga- 
tion to return slaves, and the magnificent extension of the republic 
was not, in peaceful days, a good thing to complain of At any rate, 
opposition to our gains in the Southwest, while it might have been 
high morals, was not good politics. 

There was mingled with the feeble editorial matter beautiful poetry 
written by lovely women, inspired by a dollar per verse. This was 
the condition of Cincinnati newspaper literature when I deserted a good 
farm twenty miles northwest of that city and became at College Hill 
an alleged student and actual writer for the press. The hill was an 
eminence from which the smoke of Cincinnati could be seen. This 
personal movement never seemed to me influential in general affairs, 
but it had an appreciable force so far as I was concerned, and may be 
worth a few words as an indication of tendencies. The Cincinnati 
papers spent seven dollars a week each at that time for telegraphic de- 
spatches, and regarded themselves as imposed upon by the grinding 
monopoly that spoiled the regular old news channels through the mails. 
The papers were printed on flat presses, and the working of two thou- 
sand sheets an hour was an achievement that was much applauded, and 
a material advance to getting off twelve hundred in the same time. 
No one had dared to hope for one-sixth of the capacity in a press 
since developed, or of multiplying presses with duplicated plates. 
The editorial and local matter was mixed in the same type. The 
most conspicuous feature of the editorial page, save when some im- 
portant amateur contributed a labored leader, was a poem, original 
or selected, usually original, and considered a liberal and attractive in- 


714 


EARLY EDITORIAL EXPERIENCES . 


vestment by the publisher who had the power of the purse. The issues 
of the journals were of four pages each, and the first column of the 
fourth page contained six times out of ten a bear story, and the other 
four times a snake; bird, or Indian tale. On Saturdays there was a 
page of literary matter, and a part of this, which was the fairest display 
of native and cultivated capacity for the week, was usually a chapter 
of a novel or novelette that was romantic as to the late red men and 
the contemporary pioneers and white hunters of Kentucky and Ohio. 
These were the sunflowers in the garden of the Western world of letters. 

My first writings for the press were stories of frontier life, adven- 
tures in the wilderness, suggested by the still recited recollections of the 
old men and women who remembered the Indian wars and the first 
corn-fields on the Miamis. Then came more ambitious contributions, 
and reviews of the publications current. Harper’s Magazine , Godey’s 
Lady’s Book , and the Southern Literary Messenger were the great steady 
lights. Presently there was in the West a slow, but distinct and pro- 
gressive, movement of journalism ; and it was visible in an increased 
estimate of news and a separation defining the difference between news 
and literary papers. But journalism was a word never used, not in- 
vented, or forbidden, as all the printed sheets, daily or weekly, were 
newspapers, and those who did the work were editors, locals, and 
reporters, — not members of the press, or journalists, or of the staff or 
corps. No, indeed ; anv one who had stated that he was of the corps, 
or on the staff*, or engaged as a journalist, would have been excluded 
from the social circles of the members of the press. These were conser- 
vative times, days of delightful communion, no unseemly competition, 
no strife for “ scoops,” all acting under a general agreement not to print 
for a morning newspaper anything arriving later than ten o’clock of 
the night before, while an evening paper did well if it picked up the 
happenings of last week. The swim that I was in carried me into 
news work rather than literary labor, and my first exploit that disturbed 
the easy-going ways was to sit up until two o’clock for the New York 
and Baltimore papers, snatch them from the mail-bag myself, and 
scissor two columns under the head of “ Latest by Mail,” or “ Midnight 
Mail Matter;” and it was easy thus then to beat the telegraph, which 
doled out to the unappreciative world about four hundred words a day 
on the average. There were a few heavy head-lines when Daniel 
Webster died, but before that they were not obtrusive. It was con- 
sidered an error, however, for a journal issued on the Monday after 
Webster died on Saturday not to have the news that he was gone, and 
the editor who had caused his Monday’s issue to be printed on that 
memorable Saturday night was subjected to ribald remarks, and he 
grew tired and sad. The death of Webster was one of the first events 
to which the press of this country did contemporary justice. 

The rapid growth of news telegraphing put aside for a time bear 
stories and original poems, but they are turning up in ancient beauty 
as modern novelties, like old fashions in gowns and bonnets. One of 
my errors in newspaper management, 1 think, was in dismissing the 

hangs an eternal charm, and another mistake, 
of a graver character, was holding base-ball, as a news source, in con- 


BEING HIS MOTHER. 


715 


tempt ; but the most costly of my experiences has been in overrating 
editorial instruction of the public, and allowing myself to form an 
unscrupulous habit of telling too much truth. 

Murat Halstead. 



BEING IIIS MOTHER. 

B EING his mother, when he goes away 

I would not hold him overlong, and so 
Sometimes my yielding sight of him grows, oh ! 
So quick of tears, I joy he did not stay 
To catch the faintest rumor of them, — nay, 

Leave always his eyes clear and glad, although 
Mine own, dear Lord, do fill to overflow; 

Let his remembered features, as I pray, 

Smile ever on me ! Ah ! what stress of love 
Thou givest me to guard with Thee thiswise: — 

Its fullest speech ever to be denied 
Mine own , — being his mother ! All thereof 
Thou knowest only, looking from the skies 
As when not Christ alone was crucified. 

James Whitcomb Riley. 


716 WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES ITS WAY. 


“ WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES 

ITS WAY.” 



T HE Missis- 
sippi River 
has six hundred 
% affluents whose 
courses are 
marked upon 
the map, and a drain- 
age-area of 1,257,545 
square miles. 

The traveller em- 
barking upon a steam- 
boat can sail from 
Pittsburg, four thou- 
sand three hundred 
miles, to Fort Benton, 
Montana, and from 
Minneapolis, two thousand tw T o 
hundred miles, to Port Eads, 
on the Gulf of Mexico. 
Should he choose to extend 
his voyage to the head of navi- 
gation upon its forty-five navi- 
gable tributaries, his outward journey would exceed sixteen thousand 
miles, through twenty-three States and Territories of the Union. 

This stupendous water-system is equivalent to a land-locked harbor, 



WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES ITS WAY. 71 7 

an estuary, or an arm of the sea, penetrating into the North American 
continent farther than froni New York to Liverpool, with a coast-line 
of thirty-two thousand miles, having hundreds of populous towns and 
cities, and innumerable ports and havens, from which the agricultural 
and manufactured products of one-third of the arable surface of the 
United States can be shipped to all parts of the globe. 

The territory which it drains is considerably larger than Central 
Europe. Lying wholly in the temperate zone, equally removed from 
the languors of the tropics and the rigors of the pole, its climate favor- 
able to health and longevity, its calcareous soil adapted to every variety 
of agriculture, it is the region where the elements of prosperity are most 
abundant and stable, and the conditions of happiness most permanent 
and secure, among the habitations of men. 

One hundred years ago the pioneers from New England, the advance- 
guard of the great column of Anglo-Saxon migration, that has during 
the interval marched to the Pacific, abolishing the frontier and conquer- 
ing the desert, descended the western slopes of the Alleghanies into the 
valley of the Ohio and disappeared in its solitudes. Chicago, Cincin- 
nati, and St. Louis were outposts of civilization, exposed to the brand 
and the tomahawk. A few log huts, trading-stations, and mission- 
houses were scattered along the crumbling banks of the rivers and in the 
profound depths of the forests. There were neither highways nor pub- 
lic conveyances; commerce, agriculture, nor manufactures; no schools, 
churches, nor society; nothing but nature and its vicissitudes, the savage 
and his prey. 

From that unsurveyed wilderness, in less than a century, twenty- 
one States have been admitted into the Union, having an area of eight 
hundred million acres, a population of more than thirty-five millions, 
and wealth beyond measurement or computation. Sparsely inhabited, 
with rude and unscientific methods, its resources hardly touched, the 
States of the Mississippi Valley last year produced more than three-, 
quarters of the sugar, coal, corn, iron, oats, wheat, cotton, tobacco, lead, 
hay, lumber, woo), pork, beef, horses, and mules of the entire country, 
together with a large fraction of its gold and silver. Their internal 
commerce is already greater than all the foreign commerce of the com- 
bined nations of the earth. 

China supports four hundred million people upon an area smaller 
and less fertile. The civilization of Egypt, whose monuments have for 
forty centuries excited the awe and admiration of mankind, was nour- 
ished by the cultivation of less than ten thousand square miles, in the 
narrow valley and delta of the Nile. The delta of the Rhine, and the 
adjacent lands reclaimed from the Zuyder Zee, less than fifteen thousand 
square miles, have long sustained the United Kingdom of the Nether- 
lands and given to a dense population wealth, comfort, and contentment. 

The delta of the Mississippi, below its junction with the Ohio, richer 
than the Nile or the Rhine, exceeds the combined area of Holland and 
Egypt, and is destined under the stimulus of free labor and the incen- 
tives of self-government to build a fabric of society more opulent and 
enduring. Add to this the inexhaustible alluvion of the streams above, 
and the fertile prairies from which they descend, and the arithmetic of 


718 WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES ITS WAY. 

the past has no logarithms with which to compute the problems of the 
economic and commercial future of the West. It will be predominant 
in the development, not of this country alone, but of the hemisphere, 
and will give direction to the destinies of the human race. 

We stand in the vestibule. We have not yet entered the temple. 
When the first furrow was broken on the prairies of Illinois, there was 
not an iron ploughshare in the world. Men are yet living who might 
have seen the first steamboat on Western waters, on her trial-trip from 
Pittsburg in 1811, and who were in active life when the first passenger 
rode in a railway-train and the first telegraphic despatch was sent. The 
early settlers of Missouri had to depend on flint and tinder for fire. 
Most of the inventions in machinery, nearly all the appliances for com- 
fort and convenience, were unknown to the pioneers of the West. Their 
victories were won with few of the methods and devices now regarded 
as indispensable in even the humblest walks of life. When its agricul- 
tural, mining, and manufacturing resources are fully developed bv steam 
and electricity, the Mississippi Valley will support and enrich, without 
crowding, five hundred million people, and be not only the granary, but 
the workshop, of the planet. 

Already bv the readjustments of the Eleventh Census the centre and 
seat of political power has been transferred hither from the seaboard. 
The Central West, with its natural and inevitable allies, the States of 
the Gulf and the Southeast Atlantic, have a majority of the members 
of both houses of Congress, and of the College of Electors for President 
and Vice-President of the United States. They control the executive 
and legislative departments of the government. They hold the purse 
and sword of the nation, and will hereafter dictate its policy of adminis- 
tration. Sectional causes have delayed this coalition, but the estrange- 
ment is disappearing, and reconciliation will soon be complete. 

Invidious tariffs, inequitable railway-charges, and insufficient cur- 
rency have hitherto imposed heavy burdens upon the laborers and 
producers of the West, to which they have submitted, not without pro- 
test against the injustice. They will hereafter demand relief, not at the 
sacrifice of the interests of the East and North, by a more uniform dis- 
tribution of the benefits, privileges, and disadvantages of civilization. 
They will require rearrangement of custom-duties, so that taxation may 
fall equably upon those who work with their brains and those who toil 
with their hands. They will insist upon bimetallism, as the basis of a 
safe and abundant circulating medium, without which industry must 
languish and commerce decay. 

Recognizing the importance of inland navigation to national pros- 
perity, and its necessity to prevent injurious railway-charges, the West 
will ask for the improvement of its water-ways and the development 
of internal communications, so as to connect the Mississippi with the 
Great Lakes at Chicago, with the Atlantic at New York, Philadelphia, 
Baltimore, and Savannah, and by the Nicaragua Canal with the Pacific. 
By the enlargement of the Welland Canal, Chicago will be a seaport, 
and by deepening and straightening the channel of the Mississippi, long 
before the second century ends, ocean steamers will receive and discharge 
their cargoes at the port of St, Louis. By the construction of the 


WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE TAKES ITS WAY. 719 

Florida Ship-Canal the voyage to Liverpool will be shortened a thou- 
sand miles, and by the Nicaragua Canal the voyage from St. Louis to 
San Francisco will be shortened more than twenty-four thousand miles. 

Opposite the mouth of the Mississippi, and separated from our 
southern boundary by the Gulf of Mexico, lie the West India islands, 
with five million inhabitants, and the Spanish-American republics, 
with fifty million people and a territorial area nearly three times larger 
than that of the United States. Their relations with us are fraternal. 
They have adopted our political ideas and modelled their governments 
after ours. We form a family of nations, shut in by friendly oceans 
from foreign intrusion, ultimately to become federated from Cape Horn 
to the Arctic Sea. The railroad already constructed to Mexico will be 
continued south along the Isthmus to the coffee -fields of Brazil, con- 
necting the valley of the Mississippi with the valleys of the Amazon 
and the Parana, and forming an unbroken line of railway from Boston 
to Rio Janeiro and Buenos Ayres. 

To control the commerce of these open, unsupplied, and growing 
countries, and to compete with formidable rivalry for the markets of 
India, China, Japan, Australia, and the archipelagoes of the Pacific, is 
the transcendent question before us. In this movement for supremacy, 
the West, the seat of political power, the centre of population, the store- 
house of national wealth, will take the lead. Here, and not on the 
shores of the Thames, the Connecticut, or the Hudson, the destiny of 
the English-speaking people is to be accomplished, its final triumphs 
are to be won. 

Many perils are to be encountered; many battles to be fought; 
many dangers to be overcome. Discordant and incongruous elements 
are to be made homogeneous, and fused and blended into loyal, patriotic 
American citizenship. Imported ignorance, crime, and thriftlessness 
must be restricted. True liberty of speech, conscience, and the press 
must be maintained through public education and the separation of 
Church and State. The costly and destructive evils of intemperance 
must be overcome by morality and law. The tendency toward the 
congestion of population in great cities must be resisted by inducements 
toward the tranquillity and virtue of rural life. The rapidly-growing 
discontent at the unequal diffusion of wealth, and the alarming in- 
crease of socialism and anarchy, must be checked by private benevo- 
lence, and by such legislation as will prevent the indefinite transmission 
of inherited fortunes. 

The location of the World's Columbian Exposition at Chicago 
marked an epoch in the relations between the East and the West. It 
was the tardy, but final, recognition of the commercial predominance 
of the West, as the session of all National Conventions in Western 
cities is an acknowledgment of political supremacy. Dominion has 
been reluctantly relinquished, but we shall have no more supercilious 
and self-complacent assumptions of patronizing superiority over the 
“ wild and woolly West." 

To the myriads of visitors from Europe and the Orient, Chicago, 
and the journey to the West, will be a revelation. Should Gladstone 
and De Lesseps honor the opening ceremonies with their presence, the 


720 


AT DEAD OF NIGHT. 


marvels of the new civilization they witness will far transcend the 
assembled glories and wonders of that which they have left. At the 
date of their birth, the State of Illinois, now third in population in the 
Union, was an unorganized territory. They will behold the domes and 
towers of a metropolis rivalling London and Paris in wealth, numbers, 
and splendor; the palaces of merchant princes; the endless avenues 
of trade ; boulevards thronged with glittering equipages ; the tumult 
of thoroughfares ; the smoke of factories like the craters of volcanoes ; 
the stately procession of ships along the horizon of the lake, and the 
marble terraces of its curving shores. 

To those unfamiliar with the prodigies of Western growth, it would 
appear incredible that the English statesman had entered upon his ex- 
traordinary Parliamentary career, and the French diplomatist distin- 
guished himself in the consular service, before the village of Chicago 
had a corporate name, and that its municipal birth is coeval with the 
reign of Queen Victoria. Nor would the wonder be lessened by the 
knowledge that within this brief interval the city had been uplifted 
bodily from the mire of the morass in which it stood, and once rebuilt 
upon the cinders of the most destructive conflagration of modern 
times. 

With such courage, resolution, and energy, everything may be pre- 
dicted except mediocrity, and nothing is impossible except failure and 
defeat. 

John James Ingalls. 


AT DEAD OF NIGHT. 

I WOKE at dead of night. The wind was high ; 

My white rose-bush was tapping ’gainst the pane 
With ghostly finger-tips; a sobbing rain 
Made doleful rhythm for my thoughts, and I 
Strove vainly not to think, and wondered why 

My brain, ghoul-like, must dig where long had lain 
The pulseless dead that time and change had slain. 

I fear no living thing. But oh ! to lie, 

And see the gruesome dark within my room 
Take eyes and turn on me with yearning gaze ! 

To hear reproachful voices from the tomb 
Of duties unfulfilled, — might well-nigh craze 
A stronger brain ! God save me. from the gloom 
Of sleepless hours that stretch between two days ! 

Carrie Blake Morgan. 


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Yol. XLIX.— 46 


721 


722 


SMITHERS. 




SMITHERS. 

P HEBE ELLEN was doing up the supper-dishes at the large table 
before the kitchen fire. She was a tall, plump, blue-eyed girl, 
fair and dimpled, the picture of health and strength. Her father, 
Squire John Boardman, sat by the jutting jamb of the fireplace, 
smoking his pipe and reading a paper. Mrs. Boardman was iron- 
ing some cuffs and collars at a little side-table. 

The room was ample and comfortable, its plain, solid furniture 
giving back cheerful reflections of the dancing log fire on the hearth. 

Outside, a snow-storm roared dolefully. The windows were banked 
full of the packed fleece, and the house shook with the force of the 
wind. 

Phebe Ellen was singing in a tender undertone snatches of such 
ditties as had floated into her life from the great world of which she 
knew so little and had dreamed so much. 

a Wonder who that is?” she exclaimed, with a look of inquiry 
which comprehended both her mother and her father. 


SMITHERS. 


723 


“ It’s somebody knocking at the front door,” she added, after a 
moment’s pause. 

“ Go and see,” said her father, whose pipe and paper and the com- 
fort of an easy-chair were just then very dear to him. 

She dried her hands on a towel, gave her bright yellow hair a 
smoothing touch or two, and went out through the dining-room into 
the hall. 

Mrs. Boardman set her iron on a little scorched rag mat, and stood 
in a hearkening attitude. 

A soft, heavy, masculine voice was heard saying something to 
Phebe Ellen, and in a few moments she returned to the kitchen pale 
and trembling. / 

“ What’s the matter, Plieb’ Ellen?” demanded her mother. 

“ Who is it?” inquired the father. 

“ Mercv ! I’m so scared !” 

Mr. Boardman jumped to his feet and glared askance. 

“ Who’s out there?” he asked. 

“ My ! I don’t know,” Phebe Ellen whispered. “ Don’t talk 
so loud. It’s a strange man. He wants to stay all night. He looks 
queer.” 

She lifted her superb young shoulders and made a gesture with 
both hands to intimate that it had been a startling affair. She was 
breathing audibly. 

“ Did you let him in?” said Mrs. Boardman. 

“ I — I don’t know. I was so scared and flustered, — I ” 

Mr. Boardman laid aside pipe and paper and went to see. 

The stranger had stepped inside the hall and shut the door. He 
was a dark, stalwart fellow, poorly clad, pinched and shivering. A 
thin curly young beard fringed his long oval face, and some matted 
kinky black locks were tumbled over his forehead. Certainly he 
looked altogether unlike any young man that Farmer Boardman had 
ever seen in Indiana. 

“ Um, how’re ye?” said the head of the house, rather awkwardly, as 
he approached the would-be guest. 

“ Good-evening, sir,” responded the shivering stranger, gripping 
his battered hat and shifting his weight from one numbed foot to 
the other. 

Mr. Boardman saw at a glance that here was a tramp. 

“ What do you want?” he demanded, with gruff brevity. 

“ I am starving and freezing,” was the soft but deep-toned reply. 

“ You’re a tramp, eh ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You’d better go. Got nothin’ fur ye.” 

“ I can’t go. Don’t you see me freezing ? I have not had a bite 
to eat to-day.” 

“ Why don’t ye work ?” 

“ God, man, let me to the fire !” 

Mrs. Boardman and Phebe Ellen heard every word of this curt 
dialogue. The girl was pale. 

“ It’s too bad,” she said. 


724 


SMITHERS . 


The wind wailed, and they heard the snow and ice-crystals patter- 
ing against the already-muffled panes. 

Mrs. Boardman went to the hall door and stood irresolute. 

“ I s’pose I might let you warm yourself, anyway,” said Mr. 
Boardman, in a tone which was by no means kindly. 

“ Yes, you might,” said the tramp, eagerly. 

“ Well, come on ; but I’ve got nothin’ fur ye.” 



When the stranger walked into the kitchen he was limping with cold ; 
evidently his feet were so benumbed that he could scarcely feel the 
floor. His boots were ragged enough to show that he had no socks. 

Standing before the bright fire, holding out his hands, which looked 
cramped and congested, he shook convulsively and seemed almost 
ready to fall. 

Phebe Ellen set a chair behind him, and Mr. Boardman said, — 

“ It’s jest as cheap a-settin’ down.” 

He dropped into the seat and began trying to rub his legs. His 
old hat fell to the floor beside him. 

“ Have him take off his boots and put his feet in cold water; 
they’re frozen,” suggested Phebe Ellen in a whisper to her father. 

“ I don’t know as we ought,” said Mr. Boardman ; but he fetched 
a tin pan of water and set it before the tramp. 


SMITHERS. 725 

“ Take off yer boots and put yer feet in the water ; it’ll thaw ’em 
out,” he went on. 

It turned out that he had to cut the boots from the young fellow’s 
feet. 

Mrs. Boardman got some blankets and wrapped him in them while 
her husband bound wet rags around those purple ankles. 

In due time the man was warm ; and then they gave him a cup of 
coffee. A little later he sat at the table and ate long and ravenously, 
with his feet wrapped in woollen cloths. 

Phebe Ellen watched him half furtively and with a strange sense 
of the mystery which must always attend the life of a tramp. She 
saw that he was strong and handsome, and by his language she judged 
that he was not of low family. It disturbed her to look into his face, 
which wore the unmistakable impress of secret trouble. A child or a 
very sincere young girl will always see this sign, no matter how well 
it may be hidden from older and wiser eyes. Phebe Ellen saw it, and 
yet was scarcely aware of it. She was touched and mystified, and in a 
w r ay her sympathy was aroused. 

Of course the tramp could not be sent away that night : so he 
was given the bed in the tiny room at the end of the porch. Next 
morning Mr. Boardman gave him a pair of old but fairly good boots, 
and he came to breakfast clean-faced and neatly combed. He was 
quiet, ate only a reasonable meal, and upon rising from the table turned 
to the host and said, — 

“ I should like to do some work for you.” 

It was a fair proposition made at just the right time. Mr. Board- 
man’s hired hand had left him the day before, and there were sixty 
head of stock on the farm to be fed, to say nothing of the smaller chores 
about the barn, the stables, and the house. 

“ What kin ye do ?” 

“ Anything that you want.” 

The morning was cutting, with the snow fifteen inches on a level. 

Mr. Boardman thought he would let the tramp stay long enough to 
help him with the feeding. He proved to be a good hand ; indeed, he 
could do nearly twice as much work as Mr. Boardman could, and with 
such ease and knack ! The farmer was both pleased and surprised. 
Here was the sort of help that he had always wanted. 

“ Ef I thought it was safe,” he said to his wife when they went in to 
dinner, “ I’d try to keep that feller; he’s a boss to work.” 

The tramp was washing his hands and face at the pump under the 
shed behind the kitchen, and Phebe Ellen went out to get a bucket of 
water. 

“ Let me, please,” he said, pumped it for her, and carried it in, 
waiting for her to go ahead ot him. 

“ What is his name?” Mrs. Boardman inquired of her husband. 

“ Harper Smithers.” 

“ Quare name.” 

“ Yes, but he’s a good ’un.” 

And Harper Smithers stayed. All the rest of the winter he worked 
steadily, quietly, efficiently. The stock loved him and thrived under 


726 


SMITHERS. 


his care; he sawed great piles of wood and split the sticks fine for 
summer cooking-fuel. Indeed, nothing was neglected. 

By degrees the family took him in as one of them ; but he was not 
talkative, never spoke of his past life, and had a way of holding him- 
self at a certain distance from all of them, especially from Phebe Ellen, 
who was not inclined to be reserved, though she was as modest as a 
violet in her way. 

In the neighborhood Smithers was known as “ Squire Boardman’s 
tramp.” He never went to church or to singing-school or to any of 
the social gatherings. Even when Phebe Ellen gave a candy-pulling 
he could not be induced to come out of his room, where he was reading 
an odd volume of a Life of Andrew Jackson. 

“ No, thank you, Miss Phebe,” he said, with gentle firmness ; “ I’ll 
not go in where they are. You’ll enjoy yourselves just as well.” 

The girl felt, in a way, the man’s self-respect behind his reserve, 
and it made her thoughtful. This tramp was not an ordinary laborer ; 
she saw that his education and breadth of intelligence made him supe- 
rior, in fact, to any other person she had ever known. He was hand- 
some, too, singularly handsome, and the air of mystery which hung 
about him added much to his attractiveness. Moreover, he soon dressed 
himself well, and wore his clothes with a certain suggestion of gentility 
and distinction. 

One thing Smithers would not do for Mr. Boardman. The railroad 
village nearest to the farm was eleven miles a wav, and once a week 
some member of the household had to go thither on one or another 
errand. The tramp drew the line at this point. 

“ No,” he said ; u I don’t like towns. Don’t ask me to go. I’ll 
not go.” 

At first Mr. Boardman, who was rather quick of temper, did not 
relish the refusal ; but Smithers was so gentle and suave in his speech 
and manner that it was impossible to be angry with him ; besides, how 
could the farm be managed without him? 

When the time for ploughing and planting came, it was a constant 
pleasure to the household to note the cleverness and the fertility of the 
tramp’s genius in inventing ways and means of progress. Never had 
the crop been so forward and so fine. The fields showed the rare labor 
and skill bestowed upon them ; all the fences looked like new ; stumps 
disappeared with almost magical quickness ; the dark loam lay clean 
and fresh as if it could not grow weeds ; the corn and wheat and grass 
fairly leaped in their luxuriance of life. 

In his intercourse with the family Smithers was respectful, obedient 
as a slave, and tirelessly watchful in his desire to anticipate a request; 
but yet he was aloof, separated as if by a great distance from the do- 
mestic circle. Now and again at table Mr. Boardman tried to draw 
him into simple conversation: it was no use; he closed every gate to 
his thoughts. 

Perhaps love is inevitable in a case of this sort ; it is, at least, a 
natural outcome. Phebe Ellen could not help seeing how handsome 
the tramp was, nor could she resist the appeal of his romantic and 
mysterious reticence. Where was he from ? Who was his mother ? 


SMITHERS. 


727 


Wlmt misfortune had flung him adrift, homeless, moneyless, silent, 
aimless? The girl was better educated than farmers’ daughters usually 
are in Indiana ; and by degrees her thoughts came to brood a great 
deal over this subject. Indeed, with little else to occupy her mind 
during her hours of light 
household work, she per- 
mitted her imagination to 
build a picturesque theory 
of the tramp’s secret his- 
tory. 

One day — it was late in 
summer — Smithers star- 
tled her by appearing be- 
fore her suddenly about 
the middle of the after- 
noon. 

“ I am going away,” 
he said. 

She was sitting on the 
little side porch, rearrang- 
ing the ribbons of a pretty 
straw hat which she meant 
to wear to church the next 
Sunday, and had not heard 
him come around the cor- 
ner of the house. Looking 
up in a scared way, she 
saw a gloomy, ugly look 
fixed in his face. 

“ What is the matter?” she asked, quite dazed, and feeling suddenly 
weak. 

“ Nothing,” he growled. 

“ There is something,” she insisted, springing up and letting fall 
the hat and ribbons. “ You and father have- 

“ Yes, we have. He’s a vulgar villain.” 

“ Oh, how can you ? how dare you ?” 



SHE WAS SITTING ON THE LITTLE SIDE PORCH. 


V 


“ I am sorry, Miss Boardman, very sorry to- 


» 


Her look cut short his sentence. It was a look not to be misunder- 
stood, a revelation as if by a flash of lightning. 

She clasped her hands before her, and, leaning slightly toward him, 
gazed as one who sees death. 

Just then Mr. Boardman came around the house, walking hurriedly. 
His voice was much agitated when he said, — 

“ I was wrong. I ortn’t to ’a’ said it, Harper. I take it back.” 

Smithers turned coldly toward him, and appeared on the point 
of making some bitter remark ; but Phebe Ellen interrupted the 
impulse. 

“ Oh, I’m so glad !” she cried. 

Her father glanced quickly at her, his eyes showing a startled sense 
of some new element of trouble. 


728 


SMITHERS. 


“ It’s all right,” said the tramp. “ I am a tramp, but I will not be 
called one in the way of insult. You have been kind to me ; still, that 
doesn’t give you the right to speak to me as if I were a dog.” 

u I ? ve said I was wrong, and I was wrong. What more kin 
Idol” 

“I guess I’d better go,” Smithers insisted, with a peculiar dryness 
of tone, as if the words were sere and chaffy. “ It will be the best for 
us all.” 

He shot one quick, burning glance into Phebe Ellen’s eyes. 

“ Oh, no !” she cried, but checking herself instantly, her face as 
pale as death. 

“ Do ez ye like, Harper.” Mr. Boardman spoke mechanically ; for 
his thoughts were playing battledore and shuttle-cock, and he did not 
know what to say. Suddenly the hold that this unknown tramp had 
taken on his affections was coupled with a vague sort of adumbration 
of Phebe Ellen’s secret. She was his only child, and he loved her 
almost to idolatry. 

u It’s nothing but a foolish tiff,” she interposed. u You both ought 
to be ashamed.” 

“ I am ashamed,” said Smithers. 

“ An’ so’m I,” Boardman jerked out. 

The matter was talked over, and finally Smithers promised to stay 
until after wheat-sowing ; but it was understood, tacitly at least, that 
he was to go after that. 

Phebe Ellen was now fully aware of her love for the tramp. It 
hummed in her heart like the sound of far-off winds and flames and 
floods. Sweet, terrible, inexplicable, it filled her with fever. She could 
look at him only when she knew that he did not see her ; and then 
something warned her that the look was an act which in some wav con- 
nected itself with indefinable shame and sorrow. His face was in her 
dreams, dark, magnetic, mysterious; his tall form, poised with the 
strength and grace of Apollo, always stood a little way in a shadowy 
mist. 

The Boardman farm was, perhaps, the most out-of-the-way place in 
the county, and the Boardman family consequently lived a life that was 
quiet and unobserved beyond what was usual in Indiana. The neigh- 
bors were few and scattered among the wild hills bordering a little river. 
Rarely indeed came a stranger into the lonely nook occupied by the 
weather-beaten but comfortable Boardman residence. In winter it was 
a dreary place; but in summer, for one who could endure the isolation, 
the surroundings were reposeful and soothing. Harper Smithers seemed 
to like it ; but after the trouble with his employer he was more reserved 
and silent than ever. 

Phebe Ellen went about her work restlessly and with alternating 
moods. Now singing half hysterically some sentimental ditty, anon 
pale and thoughtful, she performed mechanically tasks which no longer 
engaged her interest. 

Of course this could not last. The moment would come when love 
would find both gates open at once. Nothing in particular brought 
about what had to be. 


SMITHERS. 


729 

One evening Phebe Ellen was leaning over the low garden fence in 
the night-shadow of a pippin-tree. The stars were out, and a thin slip 
of moon was in the west. 

“ Phebe,” said a gentle voice close to her. It was but a melodious 
whisper, and yet a universe of meaning came with it. 

She tried to speak, 
and could not; her heart 
was pounding like a 
sledge. 

Then came a few half- 
coherent words, a lono; 
embrace, and the full 
mutual avowal of un- 
dying love. 

That night came a 
terrific storm of rain with 
lightning. The wind 
blew almost a hurricane, 
and the thunder, crash 
upon crash, shook the 
ground. A bolt fell upon 
the barn and set it on 
fire. Mr. Boardman and 
Smi thers discovered the 
disaster at the same mo- 
ment and rushed forth 
together; but it was too 
late to save the building ; 
all that they could do was 
to release the horses and 
cattle shut up in the 
shed-stalls. Fanned by 
the roaring wind, how 
that hay-stuffed hull did 
burn ! 

It was a tall structure, 
with a single square window high up near the point of the gable. At 
this window appeared a ghastly, shouting, gesticulating man. Smithers 
knew at once that it was a tramp who had been sleeping in the mow. 

“ Don’t jump! Don’t jump!” he yelled, as the poor fellow was 
preparing to launch himself forth. “ Hold on ! I’ll help you.” 

Then he rushed after a long ladder and brought it to the spot. 

“ Help here!” he called to Mr. Boardman. 

It was hard work to raise the heavy thing in that wind and rain ; 
but Smithers showed giant strength, and Mr. Boardman helped him 
manfully. 

Phebe Ellen and her mother were staring through a window in the 
glare of the great blaze. They saw the face of the man at that high 
hole in the barn gable ; its terror and agony, its wild grimaces and its 
ghastly whiteness, chilled their hearts. 






730 


SMI THE RS. 


“ Come down !” shouted Smithers. 

“ Hurry, man !” roared Boardman. 

But the poor fellow appeared to be paralyzed with fright. He was, 
in fact, held fast by a spike which had caught his clothes. Smithers 



“ don’t jump!” 


did not wait. Up the ladder he climbed, and, seizing the man, pulled 
him through the window and descended with him between keen fangs 
of flame. 

“ Mercy ! Oh, look !” cried Phebe Ellen, throwing her arms around 
her mother's neck and writhing as if she were in the fire. 

Mr. Boardman and Smithers carried the scorched and blackened 
tramp to the house and laid him on a bed, where he rolled and moaned 
and swore terribly. The fellow was badly burned, and nothing but 
patient and tender nursing saved his life. Smithers, too, was blistered 
almost from head to foot; but he never complained; indeed, his fine 
physique flung off the effect almost at once, and he gave himself up 
wholly to caring for his fellow-tramp. 


SMITHERS. 


731 


This new addition to the Boardman household was a small but 
powerful man, near forty years of age, red-haired, with pale-blue eyes 
that were as cold as ice. 

His features were coarse 
and strong, indicative of 
iron nerve and immova- 
ble will. He might have 
been a great burglar or 
train-robber if he had not 
been an aimless tramp. 

When he got well he 
took Smithers’s hand and 
thanked him, and then 
offered to work for Mr. 

Board man. 

There was nothing 
much for him to do ; but 
he remained for a few 
days helping with some 
hauling. 

Phebe Ellen did not 
like him ; there was some- 
thing in his countenance 
suggestive of infinite cru- 
elty and treachery. He 
seemed to her to be lurk- 
ing and furtive, waiting 
and watching for a chance 
to spring unawares. 

Smithers had nothing 
to do with the fellow after 
he was up, but went on 
with his work as before, 
quiet, thoughtful, taci- 
turn. Even to Phebe 
Ellen he rarely spoke, save in monosyllables, and never since that 
memorable evening under the pippin-tree had he mentioned love. 

Hall, the new tramp, was an incessant talker, and interesting in a 
way. Uneducated, coarse, and repellent, he yet had a vein of something 
in his nature which enabled him to win a certain sort of intimacy with 
Mr. Boardman and his wife. They did not send him away, though 
his work was little needed. Why they let him stay they could have 
scarcely told. 

One evening Mr. Boardman returned from the railroad town with 
a trouble on his mind. 

“Pd like mighty well,” he said to his wife, “to know what was in 
that ’are telegram.” 

“ What ’un ?” 

“That ’un ’at I tuck for Hall.” 

“ Ye didn’t take ary one for him, did ye ?” 



DESCENDED WITH HIM BETWEEN KEEN FANGS OF FLAME.” 



732 


SMITHERS. 


“ Ye-es, a long ’n. It cost four dollars to send it, — every cent I 
owed Hall” 

“ W’y didn’t ye read it?” 

“’Twar not readable. ’Twar writ in some furrin language.” 

They talked and wondered over it in the privacy of their sleeping- 
apartment until they talked themselves into slumber and dreams. 
Mysterious things come so seldom under the observation or within the 
experience of quiet rural folk that a matter of this sort takes on strange 
possibilities in their imagination. 

Next day Mrs. Boardman and Phebe Ellen were discussing the 
telegram and theorizing its import, and when presently they looked 
around there stood Smithers. He was actually smiling, having over- 
heard what they had said. 

Phebe Ellen blushed, and her heart leaped to see the pleasant light 
in his fine, strong face. 

She felt that he would converse with her now, and she leaped at 
the chance to speak. 

“ Isn’t it strange about that telegram that Hall sent ?” she ventured, 
looking straight into his dark, inscrutable eyes. 

“ Oh, not particularly,” he said. “ Hall, I suppose, has friends 
and has asked them for help. That is the secret.” 

He returned her look with a smile that thrilled her heart ; she had 
never seen him appear so light and bright. He stepped close to her 
and said, — 

u I came in to get my pistol ; I am going to shoot a strange dog.” 

“ Are you ?” she murmured. 

To have him so close made her breathing difficult. She looked at 
her mother and then at him. Infinite longing and a nameless fear 
mingled with her sudden surge of passion. 

He stood looking at her, his lips parting slightly, his silken black 
moustache quivering in the current of his breath. Suddenly he clasped 
her in his arms and kissed her. 

Mrs. Boardman, with her hands on her hips, gazed in blank aston- 
ishment. When the power of speech came to her she exclaimed, — 

“ Phe-e-be-e Ellen !” 

The girl’s head lay on the tramp’s shoulder, and her loosened hair 
covered his broad chest with a shimmering flood of gold. 

“ Phee-bee El-len !” screeched the mother. 

Smithers kissed the girl’s forehead, eyes, cheeks, lips, then let her 
go and went to his own room. He returned after a moment, still 
smiling, one hand at his hip-pocket, where he was stowing the pistol, 
the other fingering his short, soft beard. 

Phebe Ellen was quite pale, and her mother’s face wore a sour 
frown. 

Smithers hesitated as he reached the middle of the room, looked 
quickly at the girl, then passed out. 

“ What does this mean, Pheb’ Ellen?” cried Mrs. Boardman. 
“ Ain’t ye ’shamed of yerself ? I’m er good min’ ter slap ye !” 

Phebe Ellen covered her face with her hands and be^an to 

sob. 


SMITHERS. 733 

Smithers went to the barn-lot, where Mr. Boardman and Hall were 
working at a straw -rick. 

“ Your wife wants you at the house, Mr. Boardman/’ he said. 

Mr. Boardman let fall his pitchfork and straightway departed. 

Smithers walked round the rick. Hall looked up, and scarcely 
changed expression when the muzzle of a revolver met his vision. 

“ You dog !” Smithers exclaimed, in a low, rasping tone, “ and 

I saved your life !” 

With the celerity of a machine Hall flashed out a long knife and 
leaped forward. His jaws were set like those of a bull-dog. 

Smithers fired. Hall’s body jerked when the bullet struck ; but 
the man was of iron ; he went right on. Again and again the pistol 
rang out loud and clear. Then the knife began its work. 

“ You’ll never get that reward,” panted Smithers, continuing to 
fire until he had sent seven bullets into his antagonist. 

“ But I’ll git you, all the same,” Hall gasped, stabbing away. “ I 
alius git ’em.” 

Both men were carried to the house insensible, torn almost to shreds 
with wounds. Smithers died the following night; but Hall’s vitality 
was something amazing. The doctors said that they had never seen 
the like; if he got well it would be one of those unaccountable freaks 
of nature. 

They buried Smithers decently, and there were hundreds of people 
from far and near to see the funeral. It was mere curiosity of that 
deplorable sort which seems to underlie human nature. 

Phebe Ellen went about like one in a dazed state. After the burial 
of the dead man she had little to say. Her daily work she did as 
usual, and her mother kindly refrained from any allusion to what lay 
nearest the poor girl’s heart. 

“ S’pose we’ll git good pay for all our trouble,” said Mr. Boardman 
to his wife one day. “ Smithers had a reward out on him, an’ Hall ’ll 
git five thousand dollars for killin’ of ’im. The reward war dead ’r 
’live.” 

Phebe Ellen heard ; but she did not look up from the potatoes she 
was peeling. She shuddered numbly. 

“ What had Smithers done ?” inquired Mrs. Boardman. 

“ Killed a jedge on the bench for decidin’ a case. Hall is a de- 
tective.” 

“ What sort of a case was it that the jedge decided ?” 

“ A will case, where Smithers’s father (his name wasn’t Smithers, 
neither, but Goring), — a case where the ole man had willed every cent 
of his property to charity, to build a pore-house or somethin’, leavin’ 
his widder an’ son without nothin’ at all.” 

“ An’ he shot the jedge for decidin’ agin’ his mother ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Done right.” 

Phebe Ellen listened in silence. She carved the potatoes with 
rigid exactness. 

When the doctor came that afternoon she asked him concerning 
Hall’s condition. 


i 


734 


FROST. 


“ Is he going to get well ?” 

“ It really looks hopeful now,” said the professional man, rubbing 
his hands together ; “ but I can’t account for it. Why the man didn’t 
die instantly is more than I can understand.” 

The girl turned away and went about her duties until the doctor 
was gone. Then she shut herself up in her own room for an hour. Her 
eyes were hot and dry, her temples throbbed, and her hands were like 
ice. She took out of a table drawer a red buckeye nut. Smithers had 
tossed it to her one day without a word. Holding this memento in first 
one hand and then the other, she gazed at the floor with a strange, 
strained, hopeless stare. Her face gradu- 
ally shrivelled until its features were 
drawn almost beyond the semblance of 
their former young beauty. Presently 
she replaced the nut in the drawer and 
went down into the kitchen. Thence 
she passed to Hall’s room. In her hand 
she clutched the carving-knife which she 
hid in the folds of her dress-skirt. 

At the wounded man’s chamber door 
she paused and 
listened. The 
coast was clear, 
and she entered. 

Swiftly and 
noiselesslv as a 
cat she glided to 
the bedside and 
raised the knife ; 

but on high her hand faltered. She could not strike ; for Hall was 
dead. 

Maurice Thompson. 



FROST. 

I TRACED her name upon the frost 
That blurred my window-pane; 

At morn the sweet device was lost, 

The glass was blurred again. 

So fades the impress that we make 
On those who love no more : 

’Tis like the ripple on the lake, 

Scarce seen till it is o’er. 

St. George Best. 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT 


735 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 

P ROBABLY not a man, woman, or child educated in the public 
schools of Kansas, Colorado, Iowa, Nebraska, Minnesota, or 
Wyoming ever saw a school geography in which their States, or parts 
of them, were-designated as “ The Great American Desert.” 

Yet maps thus indicating that region, accompanied by descriptions 
in which it was likened to the Great Sahara of Africa, and also by 
illustrations of caravans of traders crossing these “arid plains” under 
the greatest difficulties and amid constant dangers, were in use in the 
common schools of cities east of the Mississippi River as late as 1845. 



On the official map of the United States of as late date as 1820 this 
same region figured as “ The Louisiana Purchase.” The same official 
maps of 1840, reproduced herewith, designate these States as part of 
the “ Indian Territory.” It was as recently as 1842 that Fremont 
first explored what, writing in 1885, he calls the “ prairie wilderness” 
and describes as “ a strange and inhospitable country.” Appletons* 
Cyclopaedia issued in 1860 repeatedly speaks of this region as “ deserts 
which followers of explorers like Fremont hesitated to penetrate,” and 
alludes to “ arid and desert plains.” It was only in 1865 that Butter- 
worth established his “ Overland Dispatch,” a pony mail-express and 


736 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 


passenger-coach line across the same territory, then designated as “ The 
Plains,” from Atchison, Kansas, to Denver, Colorado. In 1867, a 
mining engineer and expert, Mr. A. W. Hoyt, sent by a number of 
Eastern capitalists to see “ if there really was such a country as Colo- 
rado Territory, and, if it did exist, to learn if any mines were there, 
as in the East both were being seriously doubted,” wrote of this region 
as “ The Great American Desert, almost impassable for man or beast.” 
And under date of August 16, 1878, the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher 
writes to a friend of “ riding night and day across the great desert 
plains.” 

And the region indicated had many of the characteristics of the 

African Sahara, except that the American Desert was covered with a 

nutritious grass, instead of sand. But, like the Sahara, our desert was 

low and flat for many hundreds of miles ; and beyond the extreme 

limits of both deserts were found lofty mountains in which were half 

concealed the most fertile of valleys, and which were storehouses of 

metallic treasures incalculable, and the sources of mighty streams. Our 

desert in those days, like the Sahara for thousands of years past, was 

traversed onlv to reach the fertile lands and hidden ores bevond. The 
%> 

American Desert was dry, if not exactly sterile. It was inhabited by a 
red race as savage as the swarthy Arabs of Sahara ; and it produced 
in the buffalo a beast quite as curious, if not as useful, as the camel. 
The receding waters of the great inland sea which at some remote age 
covered these vast plains had left in _ the Missouri River and its 
tributaries streams with many of the peculiarities of old Father Nile, 
such as sudden and extraordinary floods. The caravans of traders 
which traversed the American Desert sought oases at Santa Fe and 
Deseret, just as those crossing the Sahara journeyed to like points of 
refuge and rest with like Oriental names. The simoons of the Sahara 
were as the cyclones of the American Desert ; and as the Sahara 
travellers to this day bury their heads to escape the fury of the passing 
sand-storms, so the Western settler digs a pit in which to seek refuge 
from the destructive wind-storms of the Plains. 

But the parallel is of the past. It no longer exists ; for, while 
the Sahara remains to-dav as it was beyond the records of* time, the 
American Desert is populous with an enterprising race; it is dotted 
with cities of marvellously rapid growth ; it is gridironed with railways ; 
its dry and arid surface has been watered into a richly-productive soil, 
until we see here a garden-spot of the continent, rather than its 
Sahara. Not only have the savage tribes been conquered and extermi- 
nated, but nature herself has been subdued and overcome. Her small 
supply of timber has been remedied by the tearing of coal from her 
bosom. The water she denied to the plain she has been compelled to 
surrender from her mountains for equitable distribution by man’s arti- 
ficial means to the plains below. The energetic American settler on 
the Great Desert was not content, like the lazy and dreamy Egyptian, 
to watch a Nilometer a thousand years old to know when to look for 
the rise of his rivers ; but, draining them at their sources in the moun- 
tains, he stores their floods and doles their waters out through innu- 
merable sluices and canals and ditches as the broad fields demand life- 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 


737 


giving irrigation. And he goes on thus, year after year, building 
more drains and reclaiming more acres of his desert. The once guarded 
and fortified camping-spots of a generation ago he has turned into free 
cities which fear no foe and engage only in friendly rivalry and con- 
tention with one another. 



All this has been accomplished within a little more than a genera- 
tion. In less than a generation cities in that region have grown to 
greater population than cities of the Eastern States of the nation which 
are two hundred years old; and in some instances cities of the Plains 
incorporated less than a decade ago have a larger population than 
towns founded by the Puritans and by Penn a century since. It 
would be incredible, if the official figures did not establish the fact, 
that Denver, Colorado, for instance, incorporated in 1861, has a larger 
population than Albany, New York, founded in 1686, and nearly twice 
that of Trenton, New Jersey, incorporated in 1792, though founded 
forty years before. The town of Beatrice, Nebraska, is now just eleven 
years old; its population is 13,836 ; while Dover, New Hampshire, 
was settled in 1623 and has now a population of only 12,790. As a 
still more extraordinary development, one may cite the city of Wichita, 
Kansas, right in the heart of the desert plains, which has a population 
of 23,853, an actual valuation of $27,170,067 of property, a costly 
Vol. XLIX.— 47 



738 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 


water system, twenty miles of electric street railways, nineteen banking 
institutions, is the converging point of five steam railways, and is 
lighted by electricity. Colorado itself, in the heart of this great 
American desert, was admitted as a Territory only in 1861, as a State 
as late as 1876, and last year its property valuation was assessed for 
State tax purposes at $220,544,064. Such extraordinary illustrations 
of rapid development of a country are unparalleled in history. 

The extraordinary development of this peculiar and interesting 
region is not yet written history. Indeed, the region is not old enough 
to be thought entitled to the dignity of historical record. The time 
to write it has not ripened ; the material has not been collected ; in 
fact, it is only beginning to be manufactured. I can only write solely 
in the hope that I may incite others to steps to preserve the facts of 
this development. I can only hope in this article to point out this 
rapid growth of a section of our country, partly as a stimulus to those 
who are making its prosperity, partly to excite thought as to the pos- 
sibilities of the early future, to stimulate renewed energy in the same 
direction of intelligent development, but chiefly to urge the collection 
and preservation of this history now making. The facts which I throw 
together without much method, though with some care, I have secured 
through newspaper clippings from current publications furnished me 
from time to time, and from the officials of a number of the cities of the 
Plains who have sympathized with my purpose in preparing this article. 
I am actuated to persevere in this by a former experience of a similar 
character. In Harper’s Magazine in 1866 I pointed out the grave 
dangers to our fishing interests, and thus led to an agitation which has 
resulted in establishing Fish Commissions in nearly every State. In 
this magazine in May, 1881, 1 pointed out the dangers to our oyster- 
supply ; and since then the oyster has been liberally legislated on, to 
the preservation of his natural beds. If, in like manner, I can stir 
up the authorities of even one State in the “dry, arid desert” region 
of the Great West to a preservation of its early historical records, I shall 
have accomplished a good part of my purpose. 

In the following statistics of a number of cities of the Plains I 
have not attempted to be exhaustive. I am not sure that I am accurate 
in every case, but I am certain I do not exaggerate. The sources of 
information in most cases are the city officials themselves, in response 
to circulars asking for particulars. In other cases I have appealed to 
the census and to the New York Commercial and Financial Chronicle. 
I have included in the table a few cities (also shown on the map of the 
Desert as it blossoms to-day) which lie outside, on the fringe, as it were, 
of the Desert, but much of their prosperity is due to the development 
of the Plains, and they may be properly embraced in the statement, 
especially if, like Minneapolis and Colorado Springs, Colorado, they 
serve to illustrate peculiar phases of Western development. With the 
idea of avoiding the suspicion of having selected only towns of larger 
growth and abnormal development, owing their prosperity to local 
advantages, I have also selected cities of small population in every 
section of what was known as the Desert, except those which w T ere 
located in the Llano Estacado or Staked Plains of Texas, which the 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT . 739 


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THIRTY CITIES OF THE PLAINS. 


740 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 


latest report of the U. S. Geographical Survey describes as “ similar 
to the plains of Colorado, Kansas, and northward. 7 ' 

Of course, footings of an incomplete table like the foregoing are 
unsatisfactory : the true significance of the figures as given is to be 
found in the comparisons which will be instituted between the towns 
named. But it may be said, as an interesting summary, that these 
thirty cities of an average age of less than a quarter of a century have a 
total population of one million two hundred thousand, or an average 
of forty thousand to each city. There are only fifty-seven cities in the 
country with a population of over fifty thousand, and seven of them 
are embraced in this list which I present. 

A bonded debt is not exactly proof of prosperity, but it is very 
good evidence of the existence of that enterprising spirit which is will- 
ing to bond the future to secure the means of present development. 
These cities in bonding for long terms in large amounts for improve- 
ments are not unjustly imposing a burden on posterity. By right the 
future citizens should pay in part for the improvements which they 
will not only enjoy in their completeness, but which, by their construc- 
tion, will enhance the value of the property to be inherited. But the 
bonded debts of these growing cities aggregate $32,000,000, in round 
numbers, while the property assessed for taxation to pay it amounts 
to $571,000,000. The percentage of taxable values averages about 
one-fourth of the actual value, which basis of calculation would give 
an actual value of real and personal property in these thirty cities of 
about $2,250,000,000. 

These cities, with hardly an exception, are lighted by electricity. 
Presumably the same electrical plants supply power and heat also to 
some extent. The older towns have been quick to adopt the superior 
system of lighting. Many of the new towns have been born since 
Edison made his discoveries and the Thompson-Houston, Westing- 
house, and Edison Electric Companies gave them practical application, 
and have gone through no sad experience with gasoline or even gas. 
These cities have nearly all also adopted the electric system of street 
railways, and have in operation over eight hundred miles of such lines, 
— more than exist in all the other cities of the country combined. 

Minneapolis and St. Paul, practically one city, with a joint popula- 
tion of nearly three hundred thousand, are more remarkable in their 
growth than any other cities of the country, Chicago not excepted. 
Their street railways are really one system, and they have jointly 
over two hundred and seventy-five miles of electric lines, and have 
no other kind now. New as these cities are, they have little ap- 
pearance of newness. Their large buildings are among the finest 
specimens of modern architecture. 

As I said before, the facts, as well as the space allotted me, permit 
me only ta suggest possibilities of future development. One important 
feature which must not be lost sight of, and which is destined greatly 
to influence the further development of the country we have been con- 
sidering, is the system of irrigation which is being introduced all over 
this region. In the South Dakota flat lands it was for a long time 
thought that the water-supply drawn from artesian wells could not be 


THE GREAT AMERICAN DESERT. 741 

distributed over the level surface of the plains ; but actual experience 
shows that nature aids in the absorption and distribution of the water 
drawn from her bowels by a sort of sub-soil or underflow of water by 
which it permeates the soil and accomplishes its true purpose. In the 
same way in the Staked Plains of Texas it has been found that the 
water absorbed by the porous sediment of the soil can be abstracted 
again, and it is now being used largely to water herds of cattle on 
these otherwise non-cultivated fields. The system of irrigation in 
Colorado and Kansas is different, and far more extensive. The moun- 
tain-streams are being dammed in all directions to supply the distrib- 
uting canals which intersect the plains and water the once so-called 
Desert. The Eastern capitalists who less than a quarter of a century 
ago sent out experts to learn if there were really gold-mines in Colo- 
rado, having invested all they could in mines, are now buying the 
Irrigation bonds of the same State. A very large investment business 
is being done by capitalists in New York and Boston in this class of 
bonds. A phase of irrigation which is novel, but whose value cannot 
yet be determined, is seen in the establishment in various parts of Colo- 
rado and Kansas of what are known as Artificial Rain Companies, which 
contract to produce freshets on demand by exploding dynamite in the 
clouds above the spot to be watered ! Of course these may prove to 
be visionary schemes; but actual irrigation bv damming the moun- 
tain-streams has accomplished the reclamation of a vast region. The 
census returns are necessarily incomplete as regards not only irrigation 
but also electrical development in the West. It is safe to say that 
since the last census was taken more miles of electrical railways and 
irrigation-canals have been constructed than existed previous to 1890, 
and far more money has been invested in two years since the census 
was taken in the two directions of irrigation and electric railway 
construction than was invested in all the time previous to the year of 
the last census. 

Another great development of the States which so recently were 
designated as the Desert is to be found in the construction of steam 
railways. I have endeavored to obtain data of this development down 
to 1892, but have found it not to be possible to secure trustworthy 
figures. The Interstate Commerce Commissioner’s report for 1890 is 
the latest official data at my commands. It is incomplete, since many 
thousands of miles of road have been built since 1890; but when it is 
recalled that the first road across the Plains was not finished until about 
1865, the figures of 1890 will appear astounding: 

RAILWAY MILEAGE IN THE DESERT STATES. 


States. Mileage. 

Colorado 4,170.19 

Iowa 8,365.97 

Kansas 8,806.45 

Minnesota 5,466.37 

Missouri 6,004.10 

Nebraska 5,295.35 

South Dakota 2,485.89 


Total 40,594.32 


742 


A STUDY FROM LIFE. 


The world has never before seen any such remarkable development 
of any territory like this ; certainly not of a territory which was so 
recently condemned as “ inhospitable and uninhabitable.” The marvel- 
lous growth of Chicago in its early stages cannot be compared with that 
of some of these cities of the Desert Plains. And every phase of this 
development adds immensely to the wealth and importance of these 
Eastern States. 

“ Eastern States” is not a typographical or pen error. It is not a 
misnomer to cal] the States of the Great American Desert Eastern 
States. They lie far east of the geographical centre of this great coun- 
try, and to my mind it is important that the fact be dwelt upon. A 
line drawn from north to south at an equal distance from the eastern 
extremity of the United States at the boundary-line of Maine and the 
western extremity of Alaska, at Cape Prince of Wales, will run west of 
Salt Lake City. A very indefinite idea prevails of the vast extent of 
our territory and the distance between points of importance in this 
country. It is about as far, as the crow flies, from Galveston to El 
Paso, both in the same State of Texas, as it is from New York to 
Chicago, crossing four great States, or as from New York to Atlanta, 
Georgia, passing through seven of the oldest States ! 

William F. G. Shanks. 


A STUDY FROM LIFE. 


“Sic transit gloria mundi!” 

P OOR old thing, what pleasures find you 
There upon life’s farthest rim ? 
Deeply cruel Time has lined you, 

Yea, and he has tried to blind you ; 

Glassy are your eyes and dim ! 

Fawning courtiers one time dined you, 
Praised you, petted you, and wined you, 
Clinking goblets brim to brim, — 

Poor old thing ! 

Now, the death-watch ticks his hymn, 

And a gulf yawns black and grim ; 

Only memories remind you 
Of the triumphs erst assigned you : 

The best of life you’ve left behind you, 

Poor old thing ! 


Susie M. Best. 


ON THE IDAHO TRAIL 


743 





ON THE IDAHO TRAIL . 

W E were foliowing up Sage 
Creek, in the sage-brush 
country, when two brothers joined 
the party. They were fine-looking, 
manly fellows, and apparently much 
attached to each other. Their mother 
was in the East, and had no other 
children. But a day or two later they 
fell into a dispute while preparing 
breakfast- One of them held the 
meat in one hand and a large butcher- 
knife in the other. His brother, 
who was busy with the coffee, said, 
“Tom, I cut the meat last night .’ 7 
This Tom denied, whereupon Bill 
called him a liar. Instantly Tom 



744 


ON THE IDAHO TRAIL. 


lost all self-control, and was as one bereft of reason ; bis face became like 
that of a demon. He dropped the meat, and plunged the knife into his 
brother’s bosom: it entered the heart, and Bill fell dead. 

The murderer was seized by remorse, and cried, “ What have I 
done? What will mother say when she hears of this?” He called 
for the captain of the train, and said, “ I give myself up : I want 
you to hang me. O God, strike me dead !” 

The incident caused much excitement in the camp. We were far 
from the law’s protection, in the country of the ever-treacherous Sioux. 
All our grain had been fed to the stock long before. We knew not 
how many tempers like Tom’s might be among us. The law of self- 
protection asserted itself : what to do was the question of the moment. 
The older and more intelligent men held a consultation, and deter- 
mined to try Tom by a jury, six of whom were to be selected by him- 
self, and the other six by Captain Shaw, the accused having the right 
of challenging any of these, and also of counsel. These rights he 
waived. 

The trial was short and simple. The evidence was heard, and the 
prisoner called on for a statement, which he was unable to make. The 
jury — I have never seen a jury so grave and solemn as this — retired 
behind a little mound in the sage-brush. Soon, with slow and meas- 
ured step, they came back and announced their verdict — Guilty. The 
captain polled the jury, and inquired of each in turn, “ Is this your 
finding?” Each answer was distinct, — “It is.” The captain, as if 
not satisfied, repeated the verdict, and asked, “So say you all?” 
They replied, “We do.” All was conducted as decorously as if the 
place had been a court of justice. A more impressive scene I never 
witnessed. 

The captain called our guide, and whispered with him for a moment ; 
then he appointed a guard to take charge of the prisoner. The com- 
mand was given to break camp and march ; the train was soon in 
motion toward a dark-blue line of shade. 

When we made camp, about four p.m., every man and woman in 
the party felt that the end was at hand. Near by stood a small grove 
of trees, now putting forth the tender leaf. The camp-fires were built 
in silence; no customary sound of song or hymn arose that evening. 

Soon all was ready. The wagon, with poor Tom and his guards, 
was driven to the grove. The rope was adjusted. The condemned 
was asked if he wished to speak. In a husky voice he said, “ I deserve 
what I am getting. Good-by, all. God have mercy on my soul !” 
A tap was given to the horses, and Tom was left dangling. The cap- 
tain said, “Men, if any of you are hot-blooded, take warning. I don’t 
want another job like this.” 

A small pit had been dug; in this the body was placed, the limbs 
being straightened. A blanket was thrown over it and covered as 
smoothly as possible with cotton-wood bark. Over this were laid flat 
stones, then smaller stones, until the grave was more than half filled ; 
then earth and more stones, so that no sign upon the surface betrayed 
the presence of what lay beneath. All this care was to protect the 
body from disinterment or mutilation by savages or coyotes. 


LA CROSSE. 


745 


The property of the brothers was inventoried ; on our arrival at 
Virginia City it was sold, and the proceeds sent to their mother in 
the East. 

W. Y Lovell 


LA CROSSE. 

[ATHLETIC SERIES.] 

T HAT sport or game which requires the best endeavors of both body 
and mind in a strictly amateur way is worthy of the consideration 
of every man and his participation therein. Such a game is La Crosse. 

It has been said, and with considerable truth, too, that La Crosse is 
a little of foot-ball, of hockey, and of racquet. The goals resemble 
those of foot-ball and hockey ; the occasional struggle for the ball is 
like the “ scrummage” of foot- ball, though not so rough and dangerous ; 
the general mode of play may be compared to hockey ; while the crosse 
can claim some resemblance to the racquet-bat. It has also been well 
said that there is nevertheless a sufficient amount of originality in the 
game to render it wholly a distinct one. 

In its inception the game of La Crosse, or Bagataway, was exclu- 
sively an Indian game, practised by the various tribes for two purposes, 
— first, recreation, and, second, as a training-school to fit the young 
warriors for the stern realities of the war-path by quickening the mind, 
strengthening the body, and accustoming them to close combat. As a 
sport it was admirably suited to develop the physique of young Indian 
warriors. So general did indulgence in the game become that, accord- 
ing to one writer, among some of the tribes it was “ the chief object of 
their lives.” 

It was not until 1843 that the game was adopted by the Canadians. 
At first it did not attract much attention, and not until some twenty 
years afterwards did the young white men begin to see the advantages 
of the game, at which time (about 1860) Montreal introduced it as a 
recognized sport or pastime. From that time the rise and development 
of the game may be chronicled. The first properly-organized club 
came into existence in 1860, under the name of the Montreal LaCrosse 
Club; and this proved to be the pioneer of numerous similar organiza- 
tions throughout Christendom. Very soon afterwards a convention 
was called which resulted in the formation of the “ National La Crosse 
Association of Canada,” an organization to which the game owes more 
for its growth than to any other body. 

It was not long before the game was carried over the borders ; for 
Americans were not slow to perceive its chief features, — the skill and 
science necessary to play it, and the physical development attendant 
upon practice therein, — and the “ Amateur La Crosse Association of 
the United States” was the outcome. This body went to pieces after a 
lingering existence, and was succeeded by the “ Eastern Association of 
Amateur La Crosse Players,” which is at the present time in a flourish- 
ing condition, each year the clubs included in its membership playing 
a series of games for the championship. 


746 


LA CROSSE . 


The Amateur Athletic Union of America also took up the game 
and fostered it. A series of games for the championship of the Union 
were instituted, but, owing to an unfortunate complication of circum- 
stances, the scheme to have a number of contests in each division fell 
through last season. There were but three entries from the Atlantic 
and Metropolitan Associations, and the La Crosse board decided to 
permit these three teams — the New York Athletic Club, Staten Island 
Athletic Club, and Athletic Club of the Schuylkill Navy — to play 
among themselves. The New York team finished in the first place, the 
Quakers second, and the Staten Island men last. 

There is still another body of clubs, composed exclusively of college 
teams, and known as the Inter-Collegiate Association. The teams com- 
posing its membership are Johns Hopkins, Lehigh, and Stevens Institute 
of New York. Princeton was an active member of this body, but last 
season dropped out. The team from the Monumental City were suc- 
cessful in establishing their supremacy last year. Owing to the increased 
interest in the game at the University of Pennsylvania, it is deemed 
quite likely that the men who sport the red and blue will be found in 
the field with a strong team at the beginning of this season. The 
astonishing success of that other Philadelphia “ twelve,” the A.C.S.N., 
is undoubtedly due in a great measure to the indefatigable efforts of 
the chairman of their La Crosse board and captain of the team, Charles 
S. Powell, who is now hailed as the father of the game in the City of 
Homes. There are many other leagues, but neither time nor space will 
allow any further discussion of the history of the sport. 

The present game of La Crosse bears but a very faint resemblance 
to the original game of the Indians. The rougher elements have been 
eliminated, and science has been substituted. The working-tools, as in 
the game of cricket, have been changed in a very marked degree. The 
crosse, or stick, is different both in shape and in construction. The 
various Indian tribes themselves did not use the same stick. The Cher- 
okees, Creeks, Choctaws, and Chippewas had crosses about three feet 
in length, bent into a hoop at one end just large enough to hold the 
ball. Other tribes used about the same length crosse, but the end was 
circular. . None of the original sticks were more than four feet long. 
The net-work or strings were originally of wattup (the small roots of 
the spruce-tree, used for sewing bark canoes); afterwards they were 
made of deer-skin. 

Now as to the mode of playing the game. Having secured a field 
of sufficient dimensions to permit the planting of two goals — each con- 
sisting of two flag-posts six feet in length above the ground, including 
any top ornament, and six feet apart, — not more than one hundred and 
twenty-five yards and not less than one hundred yards apart, in posi- 
tions agreed upon by the captains of the teams, we can start in upon 
the subject proper. 

Twelve players constitute a La Crosse team, and they are known, 
from the different positions which they play, as goal-keeper, point, cover 
point, first, second, and third defence, centre, first, second, and third 
attack field, outside home, and inside home. 

Each team has its captain, and he may or may not be an actual par- 


LA CROSSE. 


747 


ticipant in the match, but if he be a non-player he must not carry a 
crosse nor be attired in a La Crosse uniform. The duties of the player 
in command are many and important. He must select umpires and 
referees, toss for choice of goal, call u fouls” during the match, and 
report any infringement of the rules. He has entire charge of the team 
while it is on the field. As to his qualifications, usually he is an old 
player (and when I say old I refer to experience rather than to years), 
for he must be well posted and thoroughly conversant with the techni- 
calities of the game. As he must follow the game, he should be an 
active man. He must follow the ball, call to the players, and direct 
them in playing it. A good code of signals, such as are used in foot- 
ball, has been found to work out better results than calling to the player, 
for that often attracts the attention of the opposite side. Signals are 
always a help to both player and captain, and many are the “ goals” 
won by the use thereof. 

For a little while, let us look into the various qualifications to be 
possessed by men in different positions. And first the “ goal-keeper.” 
He should be strong, cool, and active. He has so much responsibility 
resting on his shoulders that in any misplay he should always be judged 
leniently and receive the sympathy rather than the criticism of his fellow- 
players. Goal-keeping is not chance-work, in any game into which 
that position enters, and more particularly in the sport under discussion. 
It is a science in which one can become proficient only by dint of long, 
hard practice and minute attention to the details of the game. Prob- 
ably no position on the whole team offers greater opportunities for scien- 
tific development than keeping goal. To make a successful player in 
this position one must possess any amount of pluck, for he is always a 
target for the home men, and if he cannot receive them without flinching 
he can never hope to attain success. 

Another most important position is that of “ point.” He is, as it 
were, the keystone of the defence. Home men generally consider that 
when “ point” has been passed the goal is as good as won. Possessing, 
as he does, nearly if not quite all the responsibility of the goal-keeper, 
the qualifications for this most important post are both numerous and 
varied. He should have a quick eye, good legs, muscular arms, sound 
wind, and should be able to handle his crosse with ease and to stand any 
amount of shouldering. His position is that of protector of the flags, 
and is therefore one of defence, not of attack. His entire duty is to 
check the home men and keep them from throwing on the flags. His 
object should be to keep himself fresh and ready, so as to frustrate any 
attempts that his opponents may make to throw or dodge through the 
goal. “ Cover point” should be about the same distance from point as 
point is from goal. He is the colleague of point, and, 'though allowed 
more liberty, should always be on hand when wanted. He should pos- 
sess all the qualifications of “ point,” with rather more freedom in using 
them. As a general rule, he is compelled to stand more hard work than 
“ point,” for he is a sort of human breakwater, and must bear the brunt 
of the first shock. 

For the purposes of defence there are three other players, known 
as first, second, and third defence. Their object is to cover closely, or 


LA CROSSE. 


748 

watch their opponents and to check them. They should be men who 
are not afraid to check, and in playing they should relieve each other 
of the ball as soon as possible and give it to their home players. They 
should watch the checks of their home players and be good throwers. 
As fielders must always, necessarily, be left much under their own con- 
trol, they should make it part of their training to cultivate confidence in 
each other, by “ tacking/' as it is called in La Crosse parlance, — other- 
wise, passing into each other's hands. The second defence should stop 
the check of the first defence, and should he get the advantage the other 

two follow out to the goal-keeper, cover point and point doing likewise. 
* » 



The ball is started from “ centre," and it is the object of the man play- 
ing this position to secure the ball in the “ draw-off" or commencement 
of the game and pass it to the home or attack men. He is the medium 
for transferring the ball from defence to attack. The “attack men," 
as in the case of “defence," are three in number, — first, second, and 
third. The first-named endeavors to secure the ball from “ centre," and 
then attacks his opponents’ goal for the purpose of drawing off the de- 
fence. The second and third men relieve the first attack to enable him 
to score : indeed, he is usually relied upon to do all the scoring, as he 
occupies a better position for that purpose than either of the other two. 
He should be a good dodger, and very active, for the ball sometimes 
becomes wedged up. It is then part of his duty to go out for it. 

Every fielder should practise quick, straight shots for the flags. 
They frequently have opportunities for so doing, and these chances 
should always be taken advantage of. Above all, confidence and har- 
mony must exist between these men, or the attack will degenerate into 
a mere scrummage in which every man works on his own hook. The 
invariable result then is — nothing. A peculiar combination of mental 
and physical qualities is necessary in the men playing these positions. 
No proper definition of this combination can be given, but it is the 
knack of being in the right place at the right time, — of checking the 
right man in the right way, — of assisting your friends and outwitting 
your opponents. They should practise running around the field, and 
not remain bunched, but at the same time care should be taken not to 
get too far apart. The strength of the attack lies in combined profi- 
ciency rather than in individual excellence. The third attack is relieved 
of the ball when in a scrummage by the “ outside home," who gets him- 
self in a position to score. It is incumbent upon this player to be near 
his opponent’s goal at all times, so that he may always be ready to 
receive the ball or render assistance to his attacking men. 


LA CROSSE. 


749 


The hardest position on the “ twelve” to fill is that of “ inside 
home.” It is his duty to secure the ball after it passes the goal line, 
and play it back in front of the flags to enable his men to score. He 



A “SCRUMMAGE.” 


not only has his own man to check, but also the goal-keeper, besides 
having the other duty of always being ready to get the ball after it has 
gone to the back of the goals. He must also be in a position to attack 



A “CHECK.” 


or interfere with the goal-keeper’s stick as soon as the ball is thrown for 
the goal by one of his men. He should, as far as possible, maintain 
his position close to the flags, his object in this being to close in easily 
and either catch, throw, alter the direction of the ball, or strike it 
through the goal-posts, when the ball is thrown to him or at the flags. 
He should be an unfailing catch, and never — rather than hardly ever — 
miss getting the ball when it is thrown to him. He has no time to 
think ; for delays are extremely dangerous. The principal requisites 
of a successful “ home” are certainly quickness in catching, rapidity and 
precision in throwing, and ability to dodge. Indeed, the last-named 
qualification is an absolute necessity. His energies should be directed 
to a given point, — namely, the enemy’s goal, — and brilliant play is to 
him nothing if it bring him no nearer the goal or give him no better 
chance to put the ball between the flags. Lack of directness and force 
seems to be the crying evil of many players. Every man should have 
one single, definite object in view, and that object — that purpose — to put 
the ball through the flags. To that end all his energies should be 
directed. A fair and scientific style of play should be cultivated, con- 
fidence in one another encouraged, and skill substituted for brute force. 

Frederick Weir. 


750 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 

T was in late October, the ground sun-baked, 
hard as iron, and all that day since early 
morning when I set forth I had heard the 
thud of following horses 5 hoofs. I thought 
as the day wore on and the sound still rung 
in my head that I was going daft. I had 
known of stage-drivers on the plains that 
went mad from sheer lonesomeness. I 
whistled and chirped to my teams, and tried 
not to notice ; but at the noon station, where 
I could not eat, I asked the boss if there 
was anything queer about me. He said, 
whiskers. They used to make fun of my 
long red beard, that now is white as snow. 
I laughed and drove on ; but all the 
afternoon the sound followed me, and I often caught myself looking 
behind, awesome-like, as children do on dark stairs. At the supper 
station Sandy Harris was waiting to go back with me. He had come 
down with freighters. He lived neighbor to me in Denver. His 
wife was one of the first white women in the village, where now in ’64 
a score would include all her sex of her color, — squaws not counting. 
I was glad of Sandy’s company. Maybe if I’d had a passenger that 
day I could have talked the megrims away. 

The sun dropped down behind the level land, as I’ve seen it fall 
below an ocean view on a rugged coast in the days of my youth. A 
soft wind rustled the withered grass, like little dead emigrant children 
creeping up from their graves a-hunting their mothers; and never that 
ghost little wind blows but I think of the baby pioneers a-sleeping by 
the trail. Far the pale moon blinked into light, and came a-sailing 
across the plains of heaven, the one traveller there. 

The queer feeling being strong upon me, I gave the reins to Sandy, 
lit my pipe, and after a puff or two I told him of the sound. 

“ Bill,” he said, solemn-like, “I’m glad you spoke; for since I set 
out I could ’a’ swore a boss was gallopin’ arter us, aud have been 
lookin’ behind sneaky-like, ’cause there w r a’n’t none, and I thought my 
mind was givin’ out.” 

A stir went along my veins, reaching the roots of my hair. Scarce 
had he spoke when the noise was close after us. I leaped up and 
looked back upon the moonlit trail. Man or devil, lost soul butchered 
by Indians, starved emigrant astray from his train, the very headless 
horseman they say as haunts these solitudes, I’d have faced him. 

A black broncho splotched with white, as countries on a map, 
flashed into the shining road nerved to homestretch speed ; yet its gait 
was not that of any running horse I ever looked upon. It came in 
long, agonized leaps, spurning the earth, far in advance of the flying 



THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


751 


dust, its breath a dreadful rattle, blood and foam in its nostrils. I 
know the grit of an Indian pony, like the red devils that reared it. 
The rider waved a skeleton arm, but no sound came from the struggling 
lips parched by sun and dust. 

Sandy pulled the teams to a stand-still, and as I leaped to the 
ground the pony, as if he knew his race was won, dropped in a heap 



at my feet. Its coat was a wash of foam, blood streamed from its 
gaping mouth, every vein swelled, the breath gone out of it. The 
rider, a nondescript thing in rags, rose and staggered to the poor little 
beast, knelt, and kissed the white star on its forehead. Then I knew 
she was a woman. 

“ You rode the horse to death/’ I said. 

“ I had to,” she answered. 

My God ! as I looked at her I seemed to see the composite spirit 
of all those tortured and dead women who had died on the trail to the 
West, the Mormon converts, the Indians’ prey, the discouraged and 
forsaken. She must have been tall once; she might have been young; 
but the snaky strings of tangled hair were streaked with white, not 
gray, and the shapeless rags about her scarce covered the skin-drawn 
bones. Her face tanned to leather was shrivelled and scarred with 
the white drawn seams of cruel wounds, and her features had been 
bruised and swollen out of semblance to a woman’s face. Yet from 
that clay-colored mask beautiful eves looked piteous, like a soul im- 
prisoned in a loathsome cell. Beautiful, did I say? I don’t know. 
I never want to look upon their kind again. You have seen the fearful 
glow in the eyes of a caged beast when the keeper’s whip threatened or 
he sought to draw a bit of its food away, — a light one might call black 
electricity, and followed by a hiss. In the eyes of this strange woman 
was just that look, and the fire of hate never died until they glazed in 
death. 


752 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


“ Where did you come from ?” I asked her. 

“ Don’t ask me, but give me shelter to the town. Once there, I 
can make shift for myself.” 

She refused to ride inside, pointed with a gesture of abhorrence at 
her rags, and climbed on the baggage-rack. As she passed, I saw in 
her gown’s folds a long, sharp knife. She meant never to be captured 
again. 

“ I’ll take even bets it was Injuns,” said Sandy, as we drove on, 
“ and if it’s them you won’t get her to talk. There’s some things too 
awful ta put in words. I’ve settled in my mind to help her. Marm 
will take a sight of comfort in doin’ for her; and there’s a dug-out 
nigh my cabin as could be made comfortable. I’ll go talk to her : me 
bein’ a married man onderstands the female natur better nor you.” 

When the lights of the village glimmered ahead, Sandy came back 
across the stage-top. 

“ It was Injuns,” he said, briefly, “but whether Arapahoes or 
Cheyennes I couldn’t make out. She sort of brightened up at the 
notion of Mis’ Harris’s bein’ a neighbor and a-providin’ a clean caliker 
and a sun-bunnit, but I tell you, Bill, she’s had fearful wrongs. Them 
eyes of hern ain’t human. She wants us not to tell how we found her; 
and I said we wouldn’t. She don’t want to answer no questions. She 
may have a husband as she don’t never want to see no more.” 

“ Why not?” I cried. “A man to right her wrongs and wipe out 
the red devils.” 

“ Bill,” says Sandy, sorrowful, “ there’s some wrongs exterminatin’ 
a tribe won’t right ; and wimmen of her sort, lovin’ a man, of all people 
on earth to meet an’ tell her story to, he’d be the larst.” 

I think Mrs. Harris called her Mary. I doubt if any one else 
called her anything or spoke much to her. She got washing to do, and 
among the queer drift in that far country her gaunt figure in faded 
calico and screening sun-bonnet took its place natural-like and pathetic. 
No man ever tried to peep under her bonnet, but all of us paid her well, 
for our few belongings she kept in order, and Charley Miles was almost 
prodigal in groceries to her. He prospected up Cherry Creek summers 
and failed in the grocery-business winters, but had a big, generous heart, 
and was called — standing six foot two and fair-complected like a Swede 
— the handsomest man in the Territory. He used to say he knew it 
was Indians that made her what she was, — that probably she was the 
widow of some murdered emigrant. All that summer from early spring 
there had been a series of atrocities committed by the fiends ; and what 
more like than she was part of their spoils and escaped, God knows 
how, to live a silent protest, to us men with men’s hearts, against 
treaties with them ? 

Our frontier posts were poorly garrisoned, the country being at war, 
and so the Indians made their hay and grew rich and prosperous. 
Sometimes they wrecked and looted a provision-train, and we nigh 
starved for food, or they ran off our horses and cattle and gave our 
wives and children nights of horror and fear, while we patrolled the 
streets of the village waiting an attack. Along the trail mutilated and 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


753 


tortured bodies were found, women were taken captive and brave men 
burned at their wagon-wheels, where sometimes I used to wish the 
black-hearted agents might take a turn of broiling, for they supplied 
ammunition and guns of good make to the Indians. I remember 
reading in poetry a particular kind of a Hades an author chap wrote; 
and perhaps those agents are there, dying as men died at the hands of 
savages in name and nature. 

At last we got permission from the government to raise a regiment 
to protect our property and settlers’ lives. It was only for a hundred 
days, and part of that was gone waiting for horses and ammunition 
before we could start. We knew two hundred miles away there was 
gathered a mob of Arapahoes and Cheyennes who’d come in to be par- 
doned because winter was at hand ; there was no feed for their ponies, 
and they wanted rations and a vacation till spring. Maybe there was 
five or six hundred of them : we didn’t wait to count when we went to 
give them a lesson. Of course back East where people sleep in peace 
o’ nights our course was cruel and barbarous, but somehow in the new 
country we were making and giving to the nation we wanted our wives 
to sleep in peace too, and our babies to play unmolested in the Colorado 
sunshine. They said back East that the Indians had given up their 
arms. When an Indian does that the guns are taken from him. In 
the fight they’d better arms than we had, and the trash they surrendered 
was a bluff, as old settlers well know. In their tents were the scalps 
of women and children, toys wrenched from baby hands, folderols 
women treasure and take on their faithful hearts to a new wild country, 
lockets and such with hair in ’em, often baby hair, gold and fine as 
cobwebs new-spun across grass- blades dipped in dew. We did not care 
for back East as we rode on silent and determined through two foot of 
snow, poorly clad, half fed, and wholly inexperienced. Charley Miles 
and I rode side by side, and Charley spoke of a load of provisions lost 
that summer when the James brothers’ outfit was wiped out, but most 
of the woman in the sun-bonnet, that we’d got to call his shadow because 
of her going by the store o’ nights and watching in, or standing long 
at her door looking after him when he passed. He wanted to even up 
her account ; and, knowing her as I did, I had a mind to aid. 

The night before we got to Fort Lyon all 11s men got sentimental 
over the camp-fires, as men will before a battle, and Charley and me 
sat long and talked. I said there was not a soul to moan over me if I 
faded out in the fight, but he took my hand a moment and squeezed it 
hard, — Charley and I had been chums a great while, — and then he told 
me of a girl he loved. He’d never spoken of her before. Her name 
was Margaret Meade; and she wasn’t happy at home, account of her 
father’s marrying a young wife when her mother hadn’t been dead a 
year. Her father was rich, the big man of the town, and wouldn’t 
listen to Charley till he could come back well off, — which I could see 
with half an eye would take a sight of time. The girl had written 
him in June her father was going to send her to Europe, she thought 
to separate them, but she would be true forever, and he must be, which 
I know he was, having seen him in Mexico with the seiioritas, who can 
tangle a man’s brain worse than their own pulque. 

Vol. XLIX.— 48 


754 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


He handed me her picture, one of those old daguerrotypes one must 
hold forty ways to get a light to see. I held it down by the fire. A 
girl’s face, proud and handsome, with smooth banded hair over a fair 
brow, beautiful dark eyes, and a modest bared neck a man would as 
soon kiss as the sweet mouth smiling above it. 



“ Worth working for, Charley,” I said. 

He nodded, and told me how many things she could do ; and I did 
think what use piano-playing would be to her in the wilderness, or 
singing, save to rock a baby to sleep; but I said nothing, and tried to 
remember his messages in case he fell and to send her letters in his 
trunk in Denver. 

“To think,” he said, as he rose, “ that I’ve kissed her only once, a 
good-by kiss that burns my lips yet, for she is odd about those things, 
so pure and good I wonder the women around those Mexican villages 
can be the same sex, — both God’s work.” 

I heard a low moan like a hurt animal. He was gone in the tent, 
and I looked about careful. Only a small footprint in the snow. He 
was telling me he’d been haunted for days with a presentiment he 
couldn’t explain : he thought it meant he was to fall in the fight. But 
I heard again the sound of far hoofs coming over a sun-dried land, I 
felt the being followed, and the sense of a human creature crying out 
t° me for aid with words that could not reach me. And again that 
stir went along my veins, a-reaching to the roots of my hair. & 

At dawn on the 29th of November our prey, asleep in their tents, 



THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 


755 


lay at our feet, sure of pardon from a merciful government, glutted 
with murder, loaded with spoils, awaiting the spring. We were not 
a pardoning-board, and among our men most had a wrong to avenge. 
Our leader, the fighting parson, — he’d been presiding elder at Confer- 
ences, — gave us one command : “ Take no prisoners.” Some day his- 
tory will call him a hero, when the war of the races, the civilized over 
the savage, will be recognized without Puritan hypocrisy. 

The parson in command, “ capture no prisoners” our watchword, 
the ghosts of dead men and worse than dead women spurring us on, 
we rode down to Sand Creek. 

A man galloped across and stampeded the Indians’ ponies ; they 
can fight better on horseback. He was followed by a lean lithe figure, 
some boy I had not seen before, probably hid in the host of men who 
had followed us. He had on a wide cowboy hat, a long jacket and 
overalls, and he rode well, a part of the wiry spotted broncho he guided 
after the hero ahead. Yelling at the flying ponies, speeding after them 
like a fiend, he suddenly turned and dashed into the thick of the fight, 
the very centre of a mob of furious Indians. I saw he had no weapon 
but a long sharp knife ; and it dripped all the day. He seemed to know 
by some horrible instinct the Indian’s trick of creeping behind and 
stabbing a foe ; and he saved many of our men from that death, for he 
crept up behind the Indian. 

“ That man,” cried Charley, white and sick with the butchery, “ is 
avenging a wrong : he fights for a past.” 

Once in close quarters, the man with a past met me face to face. I 
saw his close-cropped white hair : no boy ; an old man. I saw his 
wrinkled face, sun-parched and seamed ; then — I knew the eyes, the 
strange glow, — the fire of hate. 

“ You know me now, the woman of the plains. I have only lived 
for this day. I followed on. Don’t cheat me of my vengeance. That 
tribe had me from June until October. I have lived in the horrors 
of hell. The other women died ; one committed suicide. I dared not 
and I could not die. When I am dead, tell him the woman he loved 
tried to come to him, and my story as you know it. In one of those 
tents are some of my poor belongings and his picture : I clung to that 
until the last. The people I started with were murdered. I did not 
send him word, knowing what fears he’d suffer. I ran away from 
home because I did not want to be separated from him by the sea; and 
this is my punishment. I listened to you last night. My broken heart 
came back to flesh and blood, — my heart of stone, — and I wept as a 
woman ; I cried out in my agony. There is only vengeance now. I am 
blood-mad. Do not tell him till I am buried; I don’t want him to 
see me, this face, this thing of horror I have become. Lay his picture 
on my dead heart. There is one left, — one Indian devil that shall die, 
— a monstrous brute, with a scar down his left cheek. I made that 
scar. He is the last. If Charley but kills him, I shall rest better in 
my grave.” 

I caught her bridle-rein. I could not, I would not believe 

her. 

“Let me go!” she cried, hoarsely. I saw a monstrous Indian 


^50 THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS. 

skulking past the tents. a Let me go! Forget what I was. I am no 

longer a woman : I am a wrong.” 

She wrenched herself free, and I, dumb and bewildered, watched 
her go, ringing in my head above the horrid din of the fight her words, 
“ I am no longer a woman : I am a wrong, a wrong.” Charley Miles 
passed me, heading from the field. 



“ I am sick of butchery, the murder of women and children,” he 
cried, with white lips. “ The boys may shoot me for a coward ; I won’t 
stay here. This day is a blot on our history, a shame on the men of 
the West.” 

We were back of a tent. Almost at our feet was a heap of writhing 
bronze, dying squaws and children. I too was sick with the sight. 
Sudden I saw far off a skulking Indian, and close behind him a lithe 
figure on a spotted broncho. She would reach him in a moment. I 
pointed to them, and told her story. Charley rose in his stirrups and 
looked, as if his very gaze would call her back and make her prove her 
lie. Then he cast off my restraining hand as she had done, cursed me, 
called me lower than an Indian devil, and dashed after that lean lithe 
figure over dead and dying and living hate like a madman. The 
broncho had reached the monstrous Indian, and the man had turned. 
A puff of smoke : the brave rider reeled, but a second later the broncho 
leaped upon a recumbent figure, and then the rider was on the ground, 
the sunlight glittering on a dripping blade. Thrice I saw it buried in 
that painted warrior’s breast, and then I saw her creep away, as if 
wounded unto death but bent on dying far from that polluted thing 


THE WOMAN OF THE PLAINS . 


757 

writhing in its death-agonies. The riderless pony passed me, flying 
straight into the melee, straight into that caldron of human vengeance. 

Charley was running across the snow, following a line of blood: 
the lithe figure had left a piteous trail. I saw him lift her to his knee, 
his breast ; his head drooped low over hers. I saw him lay her on the 
snow and mount his horse. He passed me on the way back. I had no 
need to ask ; his face was the face of the dead, and the fire that had 
died in her dead eyes was lit in his. 

u Shot through the heart,” he muttered. “ She was dead when she 
killed that brute. She had no word for me, only that he was the last. 
You know what that means ; but there may be brothers of those men, 
— squaws, — and they are fiends. I’ll carry out the captain’s com- 
mand.” 



“SEEN MY BRONCHO AND MY CLOTHES?” 


He was the last to quit that night. He’d ’a’ gone on then across 
the divide, where two thousand of them were waiting for news that 
monstrous brute with the scarred left cheek started to tell them. 

Hear to Denver on our return we met Sandy Harris, sort of looking 
for something. 

“ Seen my broncho and my clothes ?” he asked, dryly. 

I pointed to a rude sled we had made, a figure wrapped in canvas 
on it, and the patient little beast a-drawing it along. 

His lips trembled. “She ain’t dead, Bill; not that; ’tain’t fair. 
She was daft on them devils. She would go to fight, and I thought 
from her wrongs she’d come out safe ; for she had a right to kill ’em. 
My wife has told me.” 

I cried him hush, and pointed to the man that rode beside me, who 
hadn’t spoke nor eaten all the way. In the village the women insisted 
on dressing that poor corpse in a woman’s gown ; for Mrs. Harris said 
she was mad only on her troubles, and must have been, before that, as 
sweet a woman as ever might ’a’ blessed a good man’s home. I laid 
his picture on her breast : I found it broken and blood-stained in a 
tent. The man who loved her would not look upon her face : she had 


758 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


asked me that. I did not see him again until 1879, when he passed 
through Lake City, where I lived then, on his way to join Thornburg’s 
forces after the Meeker massacre. He never married, and, true to her 
to the last, he fell in the light at Milk Eiver with Thornburg and his 
gallant men. And this I know well : in no happy hunting-ground of 

the hereafter will his great soul ever roam at peace with an Indian foe. 

Patience Stapleton. 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST '* 

S O much of the continent of North America as is now within the 
boundary of the United States has, at one time or another, been 
held in one part or another by the subjects of six European powers. 
The Spaniards explored and built towns in Florida, on the Gulf coast, 
and in the Southwest. The Swedes made settlements on the Delaware. 
The Dutch once held New Jersey and New York. The English 
took possession of the Atlantic seaboard from Maine to Georgia. The 
French once owned the Valley of the Mississippi. The Russians were 
original proprietors of Alaska. In the course of the long and some- 
times bloody struggle for possession by which these powers have, one 
by one, been expelled, the Swedes were conquered by the Dutch ; the 
Dutch in turn were overcome by the English ; and, when the eigh- 
teenth century opened, the contest between France and England was 
fairly under way. 

The French and English began their first permanent and successful 
occupation of this continent, the one at Quebec and the other at James- 
town, at almost the same moment of time. While the English spread 
along the coast, the French, prevented from coming southward by the 
hostility of the Indians in northern New York, pushed westward across 
Canada, explored the Great Lakes, and heard of the existence of a river 
which the Indians called the Messipi. Convinced that the stories told 
by the Indians were not without truth, Marquette and Joliet deter- 
mined to seek the river, and in May, 1673, set out from Mackinaw. 
With six companions they paddled in birch canoes up Lake Michigan 
to Green Bay, entered Fox River, passed over the country to the Wis- 
consin River, and, pushing boldly out upon its waters, floated into the 
Mississippi. Turning their canoes southward, they went on past the 
Missouri, past the Ohio, and stopped not far from the mouth of the 
Arkansas. There the downward voyage ended, and the party went 
slowly back to the Lakes. 

Stirred by the discovery of Marquette, La Salle next took up the 
work, explored the Mississippi to its mouth, and, standing on the shores 
of the Gulf, named the country Louisiana and took possession of it in 
the name of France. This was in 1684. A year later, while seeking 

* The maps used in this article were prepared by Prof. A. B. Hart, of Har- 
vard, for “ Epochs of American History,” published by Longmans, Green & Co., 
and are used by their permission. 


THE STRUGGLE EOR THE WEST. 


759 


to enter the Mississippi from the Gulf, he passed the delta and reached 
the Bay of Matagorda and founded Fort St. Louis of Texas. ' The dis- 
covery and exploration of the Mississippi gave to France all the area 
drained by that river and its branches. The discovery of the Texan coast 
gave to her all the water-shed of that coast, while the building of Fort 
St. Louis carried her claims to the coast southward to a point midway 
between the fort and the nearest Spanish post. The nearest Spanish 
post was in the province of Paduco, and the Rio Grande about mid- 
way. On the maps of the seventeenth century, therefore, Louisiana 
extends along the Gulf from the Rio Grande to the Mobile, has the 
Alleghany range for an eastern boundary, and spreads westward to the 
Rocky Mountains and northward to the Great Lakes and the unknown 
regions about the sources of the Mississippi and Missouri. 

< 



Thus in possession of the territory bordering the Gulf and the river 
St. Lawrence, the Great Lakes and the Mississippi Valley, the French 
began to overrun the country, built forts, marked out the sites of cities, 
and were fast shutting in the British colonies on the Atlantic seaboard, 
when they came face to face with the English at the source of the Ohio. 
The building of Fort Duquesne where Pittsburg now stands opened 


760 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


what has been called the French and Indian War. It was in reality a 
war for possession of the country. In it France was worsted, and, re- 
tiring from North America, ceded her colonies to England and Spain. 
To England she gave Nova Scotia, Arcadia, Cape Breton, Canada, all 
the islands and coasts of the river and Gulf of St. Lawrence, and, 
drawing a line down the middle of the Mississippi Fiver, divided her 
possessions in what is now the United States into two parts. All to 
the east of the river, save the island and city of New Orleans, she gave 
to England. All to the west, together with the island and city of New 
Orleans; she gave to Spain. 

The gift to Spain was by way of compensation ; for she had taken 
part with France in the war, had lost Havana to England, and, to get 



the city back at the peace, had been forced to give Florida to England 
in exchange. No sooner did Great Britain come into possession of her 
new territory than she proceeded to cut it up, established the provinces 
of East Florida and West Florida in the south, of Quebec in the north 
and, drawing a line around the head-waters of the rivers which flow 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


761 


into the Atlantic, set apart the country to the west of it for the use of 
the Indians. The province of Quebec is still of interest to us, for its 
south boundary is the present north boundary of New York, Vermont, 
New Hampshire, and Maine. During ten years these lines remained 



1783 the boundary of the United States was described for the first time. 


762 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


Beginning at the mouth of the St. Croix, the line passed up the middle 
of that river to its source, then due north to the old Quebec boundary, 
which it followed to the St. Lawrence, whence it ran as at present to 
the Lake of the Woods. From there an impossible line was to be 
drawn due west to the Mississippi River, for, as nobody knew where 
that river rose, its source was believed to be in British America. Pass- 
ing down the Mississippi, the line went southward to the 31st degree 
of north latitude, then eastward along this parallel to the Appalachi- 
cola, down the Appalachicola to the Flint, and by the present south 
boundary of Georgia to the sea. Our country nowhere touched the 
Gulf. 

To so much of the territory thus enclosed as lay west of the moun- 
tains, seven of the thirteen States, asserting the ill-described bounds of 
their charters, had already laid claim. Unable to adjust their disputes, 
and actuated by a desire to do good, the States now began to cede 
their western lands, and by 1787 New York, Virginia, Massachusetts, 
and Connecticut had, with a few reservations, deeded to the Continental 
Congress as public domain all that splendid region which lies between 
the Mississippi, the Ohio, Pennsylvania, and the Great Lakes. Gladly 
accepting the trust, Congress in 1787 named the domain “ The Territory 
of the United States northwest of the River Ohio/’ passed the famous 
“ Ordinance of 1787” for its government, and provided that on its soil 
should be ereeted not less than three nor more than five States, to be in 
time admitted into the Union. 

Following the example of their Eastern sisters, the Southern States 
in turn made cessions, and by 1802 Tennessee and so much of Ala- 
bama and Mississippi as is north of the 31st parallel of north latitude 
had been made public domain by North Carolina, South Carolina, and 
Georgia. 

Disputes meantime had arisen with Spain and France. Angry that 
she had not obtained a line through the mouth of the Yazoo River 
as the boundary of West Florida, Spain refused to accept the parallel 
of 31° as the south boundary of the United States, occupied and forti- 
fied Baton Rouge and Natchez, and, owning both banks of the Missis- 
sippi at its mouth, she refused to allow citizens of the United States to 
enter, or go out of, the river. During the twelve years which followed 
the close of the Revolutionary War it was not possible to move her 
from this position. In 1795, however, she yielded, and made her first 
treaty with the United States, accepted 31° as the boundary, agreed to 
withdraw her troops and garrisons north of the parallel, and gave to 
citizens of the United States the privilege of depositing their goods and 
merchandise at New Orleans and then exporting them after paying a 
fair price for the hire of storehouses. 

The concessions in the treaty were meagre enough ; yet they served 
to arouse the rulers of France. The cession of Louisiana to England and 
Spain had never ceased to be a subject of regret to Frenchmen, and 
no opportunity to recover what was left of its province had ever been 
suffered to go by unused. Vergennes had attempted to secure a retro- 
cession of the Spanish part in 1782. The Republic renewed the at- 
tempt at the peace of Bale in 1795; and now in 1797, when Spain 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


763 


seemed to be yielding to the United States, the French Directory once 
more sought to recover Louisiana. The bribe was most tempting ; for it 
was nothing less than an offer to join the three legations just wrung by 
France from the Pope, to the duchy of Parma, and so make a princi- 
pality for the son of the Duke of Parma, who was son-in-law to the 
King of Spain. The offer was refused, for the king would not share 
in the spoils taken from the head of his Church. It happened, how- 
ever, that just at this moment the French Directory bestowed the office 
of Minister for Foreign Affairs on Talleyrand, a man whose head was 
full of schemes for French colonization, and who longed perhaps more 
earnestly than any other Frenchman to see the Republic in possession 
of Louisiana and the Floridas. So much in earnest was he that the 
moment he came into office he began to put his scheme of colonization 
into execution, and when, in 1798, a new minister was sent to the court 
of Madrid the envoy was instructed to renew negotiations for a retro- 
cession. “ The court of Madrid/’ said Talleyrand, “ ever blind to its 
own interests, and never docile to the lessons of experience, has again 
quite recently adopted a measure which cannot fail to produce the 
worst effects upon its political existence and on the preservation of its 
colonies. The United States have been put in possession of the forts 
situated along the Mississippi which the Spaniards had occupied as 
posts essential to arrest the progress of the Americans in those coun- 
tries.” The Americans, he then went on to say, were determined to 
rule America. This ambition could only be stopped “ by shutting 
them up within the limits which nature seems to have traced for 
them.” As Spain could not do this, she would do well to cede Flor- 
ida and Louisiana to France, in order that the Republic might do it 
for her. 

The rupture between the United States and France followed im- 
mediately. Talleyrand fell from power, Napoleon was recalled from 
Egypt, and on November 9, 1799, effected his coup d’etat and made 
himself master of France. The rise of Napoleon was speedily fol- 
lowed by the return of Talleyrand to office and by a renewal of the 
old negotiations for Louisiana. This time the attempt was attended 
with success, and on October 1, 1800, a treaty of retrocession was 
signed at San Udefonso. Spain then gave back to Napoleon the 
province of Louisiana as she had received it from Louis ; Napoleon in 
return promised to add Tuscany to the duchy of Parma, make of the 
two a kingdom of Etruria, and give it to the daughter and son-in-law 
of King Charles of Spain. The promise was kept, the kingdom was 
duly formed, and on October 15, 1801, the order transferring Louisi- 
ana to France was signed at Barcelona. Preparations for occupying 
the territory were now pushed rapidly forward, and late in November, 
1801, Leclerc set sail, with an immense fleet, and ten thousand men 
fully equipped, for Louisiana. On his way he was to stop at San 
Domingo and subject Toussaint Louverture and his black republic to 
the rule of France. The task proved harder than was expected. 
Leclerc went no further ; and when some fifty thousand soldiers and 
sailors had perished by fever and by the sword, Napoleon abandoned 
all thought of colonizing Louisiana, and began to seek for some excuse 


764 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


to withdraw from San Domingo. He found this excuse in a new war 
with England, and, needing money to carry on the war, gladly sold 
Louisiana to the United States. 



The retrocession to France was known in this country in the sum- 
mer of 1801. At the time it aroused little interest ; but the arrival 
of the army at San Domingo and the conduct of Leclerc put a new 
face on the matter, and so alarmed Jefferson that he instructed the 
ministers to France and Spain to seek for the cession of New Orleans 
and the Floridas to the United States. While awaiting the result of 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


765 


his despatches, he was astonished to hear that the Spanish Intendant 
had closed the port of New Orleans and deprived the citizens of the 
United States of the right of deposit. The whole West instantly cried 
out for war ; but Congress preferred negotiation, and in a few months 
Monroe was on his way to France to offer two millions for the island 
of Orleans. The offer of the United States was met by a tender of the 
whole province, which, after some higgling over the price, was finally 
purchased for fifteen million dollars in April, 1803. 

In the treaty of purchase no boundary was given. When the 
United States took possession in December, 1803, the eastern boundary 
was the Mississippi from its source to the thirty-first parallel ; but 
where the source of the Mississippi was no man knew, and what was 
the boundary below 31° was long in dispute. Americans claimed as 
far eastward as the Perdido River, but Spain would acknowledge no 
claim east of the Mississippi and south of the thirty-first parallel save 
the island of Orleans. The south boundary was, of course, the Gulf 
of Mexico ; but whether it extended along the gulf to the Sabine or 
the Rio Bravo was not settled. The mountains, wherever they might 
be, were believed to bound it on the west, and the possessions of Great 
Britain, wherever they might be, were known to bound it on the north. 

Want of definite boundaries in the southeast and in the southwest 
now involved us in a serious dispute with Spain, which war abroad and 
at home prolonged till 1819. The treaty of that year secured Florida 
at a cost in round numbers of five million dollars, and for the first time 
drew a boundary-line in the southwest. Starting at the mouth of the 
Sabine River, it passed up that river to the parallel of 32°, thence due 
north to the Red River, westward along that river to the one-hundredth 
meridian, thence due north to the Arkansas River, whose south bank 
it followed to the river’s source in the mountains. As nobody knew 
where the source of the Arkansas was, the treaty provided that the line 
should be drawn from the source, when found, either due north or due 
south, as occasion might require, to the parallel of 42° north latitude, 
and thence westward along that parallel to the Pacific Ocean. 

Just before the treaty of 1819 was made with Spain, the convention 
of 1818 was concluded with Great Britain, and a northern boundary 
was given to Louisiana. This line of demarcation between the terri- 
tory of the United States and the territory of His Britannic Majesty 
was to begin at “ the most northwestern point of the Lake of the 
Woods,” run “ due north or south as the case may be” to the forty-ninth 
parallel of north latitude and westward along that parallel to the sum- 
mit of the Stony — or, as we know them, the Rocky — Mountains. The 
region which lies beyond the mountains, and is now comprised in the 
States of Idaho, Washington, and Oregon, was claimed by each nation. 
But, as it was still a wilderness, to dispute about it seemed so idle that 
“ the high contracting parties” agreed that for ten years they would 
hold the country in joint occupancy, and that such occupancy should in 
no wise affect the claim of either. The claim of the United States 
rested on the discovery of the Columbia River by Captain Gray in 
1792, on the exploration of the country by Lewis and Clarke in 1804- 
1806, and on the settlement built by the Missouri Fur Company 


766 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


at Fort Hall in 1808 and by the Pacific Fur Company at Astoria 
in 1810. 



Longmans, Green & Co. 


Hardly was the convention signed and proclaimed, when Russia 
asserted her ownership of the whole northwest coast from Behring 



THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


767 


Straits to the fifty-first parallel of latitude, and forbade all foreigners 
to come within one hundred miles of the coast. England remonstrated. 
The United States remonstrated, and two years later intensified that 
remonstrance by asserting the Monroe doctrine, of which the substance 
was in these words : “ The American continents, by the free and inde- 
pendent condition they have assumed and maintained, are henceforth not 
to be considered as subjects for colonization by any European power.” 
Having announced this in 1823, the government proceeded in 1824 to 
make it good, and formed an agreement with Russia that no citizen of 
the United States should be suffered to settle above 54° 40', and no 
subject of Russia south of it. In 1825 the same agreement was entered 
into by Russia and England. The line 54° 40' then became the 
southern boundary of Alaska, and so remains to this hour. England 
and the United States were thus left to struggle for the possession of 
Oregon, and when the ten years provided in the convention had elapsed, 
unable to settle the dispute, they continued the old agreement, with this 
new condition, that joint occupancy should be ended by either party on 
one year’s notice. And now opens one of the most romantic chapters 
in American history. In the summer of 1832 four Flat-Head Indians 
suddenly appeared in St. Louis, sought out General William Clarke, 
and told him they had come from what is now the State of Washington, 
in search of the white man’s Bible. The Indians were fed and feasted, 
armed, blanketed, hung with ornaments, but were not given the Bible. 
Among those who heard this singular request was a young clerk in the 
office of Clarke. Touched by the refusal of the Bible, he sent an 
account of the whole proceeding to a, friend in Pittsburg, who wisely 
gave the letter to the public. The heart of the whole country was 
moved, and four missionaries sent out by the Methodist Board of Mis- 
sions and the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions 
were soon on their way to Oregon. It is only with one, Marcus 
Whitman, that we have to deal. He crossed the mountains in 1835, 
entered the Columbia valley, went among the Nez Pereas, and brought 
home so strong a report to the Board of Missions that he was sent back 
with H. H. Spalding as a missionary to the Indians. With them 
went their wives, the first white women who ever passed over the Rocky 
Mountains into the Northwest. The party set out from the East in the 
early spring of 1836. At Pittsburg, Catlin, whose work on the North 
American Indians has made him famous, met the party and warned 
them not to attempt to take women over the plains. But they pushed 
on over a country which was more of a wilderness then than the coun- 
try to which they were going is now. It was just six years since the 
Baltimore and Ohio, the first passenger railroad in America, had begun 
carrying passengers fifteen miles an hour on strap rails by horse and sail 
power. It was just three years since the first steamboat had reached 
Chicago, a village of twenty families clustered round the ruins of Fort 
Dearborn. It would be fifteen years before a locomotive would drag 
a train to Chicago, and twenty before a railroad would touch the Mis- 
souri. As the party passed Cincinnati the first white man born in the 
city (a man of forty-five) came out to meet them and wish them God- 
speed. At St. Louis amidst a jargon of languages and a mixture of 


768 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


costumes, the American Fur Company took them in hand. The an- 
nual expedition of the Company to the fur regions of Oregon was about 
to set off; and with them went Whitman and his party. The route 
was up the Missouri to Council Bluff, and along the Platte River 
across Nebraska. Late in May they were on the South Fork ; in June 
they were on the Laramie, and in July entered the famous South 
Pass, through which, since that day, tens of thousands of emigrants 
have poured into Oregon. At this place the White River Mountains 
and the Rocky Mountains come close together, separated only by the 
Pass, than which there is perhaps no more interesting spot to travel- 
lers in the whole Northwest. It is the great divide of the waters of 
the continent. The traveller who takes his stand on that high plateau 
has in plain sight, at his feet, within a radius of a quarter of a mile, 
the head-waters of the three great rivers of the Northwest. Before 
him lies the little stream that marks the humble beginning of the 
Yellowstone, and on his right hand is the fountain of the South 
Platte, the waters of both of which rivers in time reach the Gulf of 
Mexico. On his left are the head-waters of the Columbia, which finds 
its outlet in the Pacific. In our time it is a common sport of travellers, 
while camping for a day on the Great Divide, to rob the Atlantic by 
taking a cup of water from the source of the Yellowstone and throw- 
ing it into the source of the Columbia. 

It was the 4th of July when Whitman reached this spot, and, recol- 
lecting the day and the work that lay before him, he passed a short 
way down the Pacific slope, called on the party to dismount, raised the 
American flag, and, while they all kneeled around the Book it was 
their mission to carry to the Indians, he, with prayer and praise, took 
possession of the Western Continent in the name of Christ and of His 
Church. 

In September, 1836, the party reached Walla-Walla. Joint occu- 
pation at that day meant the right of the agents of the Hudson Bay 
Fur Company, the Canadian Northwest Fur Company, and the Amer- 
ican Fur Company, to hunt and trap unmolested over Oregon. But 
in the six years that followed the arrival of Whitman joint occupation 
began to mean something more. By the end of 1841, one hundred and 
thirty-seven emigrants had followed him from the United States. Such 
an inroad of Americans alarmed the English Fur Companies, who now 
began to hurry forward emigrants from Canada. Joint possession then 
began to mean the right of the people of each country to settle Oregon, 
with the fact clearly in view that whichever secured the greater number 
of settlers would end joint occupancy and hold Oregon forever. And 
now occurred another of those apparently trifling incidents on which 
the history of our country, has so often turned. Four Indians begging 
for a Bible brought Whitman to Oregon. A dinner at the English 
trading-post, Fort Walla-Walla, sent him with all possible speed 
back to Washington. The occasion of the dinner was the arrival at 
the fort of agents of the Fur Company with fifteen boats loaded with 
goods for the Indians on the Fraser River. Whitman was the sole 
representative of the United States at the feast, which was scarcely 
begun when a messenger entered the fort with word that one hundred 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


769 


and forty English colonists had crossed the mountains, had entered 
Oregon, and were even then at the Columbia River. A great shout 
rose from the assembled company, and one of them, springing to 
his feet and waving his cap, cried out, “ Hurrah for Oregon ! The 
Americans are too late. We have the country now.” 

That moment the policy of the English government was made 
plain. The traders that came up from St. Louis in the summer 
brought word that a treaty was soon to be made to put at rest the long- 
vexed question of the boundary. Knowing this, Whitman thought 
England was attempting to settle Oregon and then hold it by the right 
of prior settlement, and, thinking so, he determined that the govern- 
ment at Washington should know of it without delay. Not a moment 
was lost. He left the table instantly, galloped to his home at the 
mission station, and in twenty-four hours was on his way to Washing- 
ton with two companions. 

A horseback ride of four thousand miles over the best of roads 
in the best of weather would have been a matter of no small discomfort. 
But he was to make it across a wilderness in the dead of winter. His 
route was southward across Idaho, across Utah, past Salt Lake, past 
the site soon to be occupied by the Mormon city, across New Mexico 
to Santa Fe, and on by the Santa Fe trail to St. Louis. He crossed 
the swollen rivers on improvised floats, encountered terrible storms on 
the prairie, was snow-bound for days in the gorges, was lost in a bliz- 
zard, lived on the bark of cotton-wood trees, was chased by the wolves, 
and once gave himself up for lost. But he pushed on, and, frozen, 
weak with hunger, and almost dead, reached Santa Fe January 3, 
1843. January 7 he was on his way to St. Louis. There, to his 
dismay, he learned that the Webster- Ashburton treaty had been con- 
cluded August 9, 1842, ratified by the Senate August 26, and pro- 
claimed the law of the land November 10. But he was not too late ; 
for the treaty said not one word about the boundary of Oregon. 
Once more he pushed on, and on March 3, 1843, five months from 
the day he left the Columbia, he strode into the office of the Secretary 
of State at Washington. 

He came in the very nick of time. The question then asked on 
every hand was, " Is Oregoli worth having ? 77 for not one man east of 
the Missouri had any conception of what Oregon was. The existence 
of a great American Desert was firmly believed, and part of this desert 
was Oregon. “ What/ 7 exclaimed Mr. McDuffie in his speech in the 
Senate, January 23, 1843, “ is the nature of this country? Why, as I 
understand it, seven hundred miles this side of the Rocky Mountains 
is uninhabitable, a region where rain scarcely ever falls, a barren, sandy 
soil, mountains totally impassable. Well, now, what are we going to 
do in this case ? How are you going to apply steam ? Have you 
made anything like an estimate of the cost of a railroad from here 
to the Columbia? Why, the wealth of the Indies would be insuffi- 
cient. Of what use will this be for agricultural purposes? Why, 
I would not for that purpose give a pinch of snuff for the whole ter- 
ritory. I thank God for his mercy in placing the Rocky Mountains 
there. 77 

Vol XLIX.— 49 


770 


THE STRUGGLE FOR THE WEST. 


The mission of Whitman was to dispel this ignorance; and he did 
so. He destroyed the American desert of Mr. McDuffie. He told the 
President and the Secretary just what Oregon was, and obtained from 
them the solemn promise that nothing should be done with regard to 
Oregon till he had led out a caravan of American settlers. Encouraged 
by the promise, he now turned West in search of emigrants, and so 
well did he succeed that in June a caravan of two hundred wagons 
moved out of Westport on the Missouri and headed for the North- 
west. As the news of the success of the expedition spread over the 
country, a rage for emigration broke out in the West, and grew 
wilder and wilder each year, till in the summer of 1846 five hun- 
dred and fifty-eight wagons crossed the Missouri River for Oregon, 
and raised the white population of that country to twelve thousand 
souls. 

Meanwhile, the people had taken the question up, and, under the 
popular cry, “ Re- annexation of Texas, ” “ The whole of Oregon or 
none,” “ Fifty-four forty or fight,” the Democrats entered the campaign 
of 1844 and won it. Polk was inaugurated March 4, 1845, and in 
the speech he made that day from the Capitol steps he declared that 
the American title to the country of Oregon was clear and unquestion- 
able. Lord John Russell, when he read this remark, called it “ a blus- 
tering announcement.” The Democrats, when they read Lord Russell's 
sneer, flung back the taunt, “ Fifty-four forty or fight.” 

But the administration had no intention of fighting, and on July 
12, 1845, offered to compromise on the line of the forty-ninth parallel. 
England refused. Polk withdrew the offer, declared he would now have 
all of Oregon or none, and in December urged Congress to give the 
year’s notice, abandon joint occupancy, and protect the American set- 
tlers taken out by Whitman. The Western Democrats cried out for in- 
stant notice. But the South deserted them, and April 16, 1846, notice 
in very gentle and conciliatory language passed the Senate. England 
now offered the forty-ninth parallel. This, in the treaty of 1846, was 
accepted, and the attention of the country turned at once to the Southern 
frontier. 

When the treaty of 1819 was made with Spain and the Sabine 
taken as the boundary-line, Mexico, then ill a state of successful revolt 
against Spain, assumed authority over Texas, and invited Roman 
Catholics from all the world to come and settle in the province. The 
law provided that contracts might be made with any Roman Catholic 
for the settlement in Texas of not less than two hundred families, and 
that for each two hundred families the contractor, or Empresario, should 
receive three atiendas and two labores of land. The first to take such 
a contract were Moses Austin and his son Stephen of Missouri. Others 
followed, till bv 1830 fourteen grants, providing for the introduction 
of five thousand two hundred and ninety families, had been issued. 
A few failed utterly ; some succeeded more or less ; but the only really 
successful one was that of Stephen Austin. 

His contract was made in 1824, and provided that for six years his 
colonists should bring in slaves, should pay no taxes, and should virtu- 
ally govern themselves. During the six years the contract was faith- 


BEFORE THE STORM. 


771 


fully kept by each party. Austin brought in his families. Mexico 
troubled them not. But the Mexico of 1830, when the contract ex- 
pired, was a very different country from Mexico in 1824, when the 
contract was made. Her treasury was now exhausted, her offices were 
unfilled for lack of funds, she had abolished slavery, and had taken 
alarm at the behavior toward her of the United States. When the 
Spanish treaty of 1819 was made, Adams was Secretary of State and 
stood up firmly for the Bio Grande, or at least the Nueces, as the 
southern boundary of the United States. The President and the 
Cabinet overruled him. But no sooner did he become President in 
1825 than he attempted to get back by purchase what had in 1819 
been surrendered by negotiation. Twice he made such offers, and twice 
they were rejected. In 1829 Jackson succeeded Adams; but hardly 
was he in the Presidential chair when he too made an offer of purchase. 
Alarmed by this desire of the United States to push her boundary far- 
ther south, and also by the repeated revolts of Americans in other 
parts of Texas than that covered by the Empresario of Austin, Mexico 
in 1830 began to act. By one decree Americans were forbidden to 
enter Texas. By another slavery was abolished in the Empresario of 
Austin. By a third heavy taxes were laid and bands of troops sent to 
collect them. Against these acts Texas protested and remonstrated. 
But Mexico stood firm, and on March 2, 1836, Texas declared herself 
a free and independent Republic. It can hardly be said that Texas 
did this, for of the sixty men who signed the Declaration, fifty-three 
were citizens of the United States. 

Thenceforth annexation was merely a question of time. Indeed, 
in 1837 Texas made a formal offer of annexation. But the Legislature 
of eight Northern States protested, and Van Buren would hear nothing 
about it. Tyler, who followed him, would hear nothing against it, and 
the Democrats, having made it a question in the campaign of 1844 and 
having won the election, annexed Texas in 1845, and with her the 
Mexican War. The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo which closed the 
war carried the boundary of the United States to the Gila River and 
added five hundred and twenty-two thousand nine hundred square miles 
to the public domain. In 1853 the Gadsden purchase established the 
present south boundary of Arizona and New Mexico from the Rio 
Grande to the Gulf of California, and ended the struggle for the West. 
Since that day the United States has acquired but two pieces of foreign 
soil. One was Alaska, bought from Russia in 1867. The other was 
the little island of Navassa, acquired in 1891. 

J. B. McMaster. 


BEFORE THE STORM. 

T HE old oak wakes from peaceful sleep, 
Roused by the earth’s alarms, 

And frightened baby breezes leap 
Into his outstretched arms. 


Robert Loveman. 


772 


CURIOUS MIXTURES. 


CURIOUS MIXTURES. 



BENJAMIN HARRISON AND JAMES G. BLAINE. 



GROVER CLEVELAND and DAVID B. HILL. 


These portraits are presented not at all from political motives, — that be far 
from this magazine, — but because their subjects are just now prominent in the 
minds and mouths of all good Americans. The composites are produced by 
printing one negative over the other, hence the traits of one or the other states- 
man come out on top, so to speak. By this process Senator Hill appears rather 
to “ lay over” Mr. Cleveland, while between the President and his Secretary 
of State the odds are about even. The neckwear is somewhat mixed, but the 
countenances (in front of the ears) come out harmonious. The ingenious artist is 
Mr. C. N. Gilbert, of 926 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. 


AS IT SEEMS. 


773 


AS IT SEEMS. 

“ f I^HE WEST.” — Geographical expressions are apt to be relative, and with us 
I this one changes its meaning rapidly. A little more than a hundred 
years ago, it meant anything back from the Atlantic coast, or from the Dela- 
ware, Hudson, and Connecticut rivers. York and Carlisle were then Western 
towns, and Pittsburg was a jumping-off place on the far frontier. After the 
Revolution, soldiers who could get their pay only in land-grants began to pene- 
trate the Ohio wilderness, and to face a foe less manageable than British and 
hired Hessians. In those days, when Mary went to call the cattle home, she 
was liable to be called from home herself by lurking Shawnees, more treach- 
erous and cruel than the waves which lash the sands of Dee. To the north, 
emigration was reluctant and erratic, skipping for some time regions now as 
populous and prosperous as any. Cleveland was settled in 1796, Buffalo five 
years later, and Rochester not till 1812. 

Men who are not yet graybeards can remember when Ohio was commonly 
called “the West.” A dozen years ago people in central Iowa, which had 
then been colonized a scant quarter of a century, talked of “moving West” — 
meaning to Kansas, or Nebraska, or perhaps Montana. No poet ever made a 
happier guess at the future than Berkeley, in his random lines about the course 
of empire. Of three American cities which have rounded the million-point, one 
sits on her muddy throne at the head of Lake Michigan ; and the twin cap- 
itals of Minnesota have beaten the record and amazed the world by their prog- 
ress during the last decade. The centre of population, when last heard of, 
was in southern Indiana; it may cross the Mississippi before long. As far back 
as the seventies, there were cheerful souls beyond the Father of Waters who 
insisted that their portion of our common country was everyway superior to 
the effete East. 

He who would know not only the body but the soul of this New World 
must seek them in the mighty West. Here on the seaboard we are conserva- 
tive, we try to be cosmopolitan, we succeed in being commonplace; we are not 
so widely different, we humbly trust, from Londoners or Parisians or Viennese. 
The East is getting to be an old country, much like other old countries, only not 
so much so. For the genuinely American traits in their abounding plenitude — 
for our freshness, our conquering energy, our open-mindedness, our humor, our 
aggressive though good-natured bumptiousness, — go West, distinguished visitor, 
who would take notes of us, and depict us in our habits as we live; go West, 
aspiring youth, who would grow up to the national stature. Thence come our 
pork, our wheat, our silver ; thence begin to come our heresies, our novel and 
soon-to-be-dominant ideas. The typical American is already a Westerner. Is 
he not enshrined in the pages of “ The Naulahka,” with his gay readiness to 
beard and bamboozle Hindoo princes, his fearless tenacity, his irrepressible 
enterprise, his consuming joy and pride in Topaz? 

The West in Literature . — So much material was safe to be worked up sooner 
or later. But art, whether of the pencil or the brush, is never the first product 
of a new country ; the pioneer has to get his cabin built and the stumps grubbed 


774 


AS IT SEEMS. 


out of his field before he can sit down to record his impressions. A generation 
or two later, when the swamps have been drained, the canons bridged, and an 
easy way to market provided for the cattle, corn, and ores, the rustic journalist 
will pave the way for — or perchance blossom into — the historian, the poet, and 
the novelist. 

While the West has yet (in the main) to produce her own literature, she 
has powerfully influenced that of the older States, and even that of the mother 
country. From earliest days the muse, tired with cities and stale themes, 
sought a stimulus and subject-matter in the wilderness — perhaps somewhat on 
the principle omne ignotum pro magnifico. Despising a society which was but 
the pale reflection of their own, British bards turned their attention to the pic- 
turesque redskin ; “ Lo” at once became a popular character, and was long 
worked for all he was worth and much more. The backwoodsman, the pros- 
pector, and the cowboy have since taken his place to advantage, being of our 
blood and language, and thus allowing the healthy intermixture of realism 
with romance. Since the iron horse abolished distance and opened a tourist- 
highway to and fro, the life of our mining-camps, ranches, lakes, and rivers has 
become familiar to writers by the thousand and readers by the million ; but 
familiarity has not yet bred contempt. On the contrary, we wait for still greater 
artists to do justice to themes worthy of any pen. 

Yet something — nay, much — has been accomplished. It may not be forgot- 
ten that Mark Twain is a native of what was then the far West, and a graduate 
of her great river college: his noblest labors celebrate the happy hunting (and 
fishing) grounds of his youth, and a great English critic esteems “ Huckleberry 
Finn” our nearest approach to a national novel. Mr. Howells was born and 
raised in Ohio, Dr. Eggleston in Indiana, and Mr. Hamlin Garland in Wis- 
consin. If these and some others have turned their backs upon the setting sun, 
preferring to dwell among the intellectual flesh-pots of the East, most of them 
have treasured up their early impressions and transferred them to the imperish- 
able page. The noble Western farmer would thus far make but a poor show in 
literature if his portrait had not been drawn by those who once boarded with 
him and drove the plough in his fertile fields. Mr. E. W. Howe, on the con- 
trary, still “ runs” his paper (and, according to latest reports, his town) in 
Kausas; and Miss Murfree divides her time between St. Louis and those Ten- 
nessee mountains on which she has shed a glory greater than that of their 
October sunsets. Joaquin Miller, though he has pitched his tent at Washington 
and elsewhere, belongs wholly to the West, — yes, even to the West in the days 
when it was “ wild and woolly ;” and so, but for the irony of fate, did Walt 
Whitman, who should have been cradled on the great plains and reared among 
the Rockies, far from tame Long Island flats and tradition- bound streets of 
Camden. 

When we consider these natives of the decaying East who drew their spir- 
itual sustenance from beyond the Alleghanies, the roll of names mounts mightily. 
Artemus Ward and Bill Nye were born in Maine, but by no means made there; 
they came to maturity and fame in the free and bounding West, which (happily 
for our purpose and its own) extends from Ohio to Wyoming. Bret Harte filled 
his portfolio on the Pacific slope. It Captain King had been consulted on the 
subject, his birthplace would have been not Albany but Milwaukee, which is 
much handier to the military posts where fighting and plots are to be had. Some 
of Miss Woolson’s earliest sketches, and some of her latest work, show the deep 


AS IT SEEMS. 


775 

impression made by a sojourn on the shores of Lake Superior. “ H. H.” found 
in the West her inspiration and her grave. 

W ealth oj Western Material . — This catalogue could be indefinitely extended, 
but to what end? The story is not finished yet; indeed it is but just begun. 
The West (except in spots) is no longer wild and woolly, but she must submit 
for some time yet to be called wild and wondrous. There is so much of her, you 
see, and the epithet which would be contemptuously repudiated in one section 
is sate to fit some others. The streets of Minneapolis, the palaces of Denver, 
the suburbs and seventeen-storied office-buildings of Chicago, may match or sur- 
pass anything we can show nearer the pale Atlantic. These triumphs of a luxu- 
rious and rapid civilization shall be duly set forth in song and story ; also (if 
not yet sufficiently) the mysteries of her logging-camps and mines. No Eastern 
poet could have produced a strain like this — we quote it from memory : 

We have made the State of Kansas, 

And to-day she stands complete, 

Full of wisdom, full of wheat; 

And her future sons shall greet 
Richer crops with nobler stanzas. 

There, we would say to the benighted but inquiring foreigner, you have the 
true American idea, the nineteenth-century spirit ; to get it in perfection you 
must spend a day or two on a fast train due west from New York. Also in 
prairies and rivers and mountains, in gorges and geysers, we are nowhere by com- 
parison. The great West has her humors too, which we cannot pretend to par- 
allel. A recent magazine story depicted a sheriff’s posse as ambushing a gang 
of road-agents in the moment of their nefarious triumph. Indignant fact, un- 
willing to be outdone by fiction, “ saw” this and went one better.” It was in 
Idaho or thereabouts, and the highwaymen, being gathered in just as they held 
up the stage in due form, proved to be an able-bodied ranchwoman and her six 
daughters in male disguise. Proud as we are of our Perry of Central Railroad 
fame, we of the East could never equal that. We have not the active intelligence 
for it, the untrammelled enterprise, the mental breadth and freshness and freedom. 

Kentucky . — Of all the vast range of Western States and Territories, the par- 
tially emancipated Eastern mind turns with peculiar affection to Kentucky. She 
is nearer than most of them, and older than any of the rest ; she was admitted 
to the Union in 1792, and settled before Independence, chiefly from Virginia, 
first-born of British-American colonies. These facts shed a mellow light over 
her history, and afford the conservative an excuse for almost tender retrospec- 
tive interest in the Dark and Bloody Ground. Her pioneers faded out of sight 
before we were born, and the Shawnees with whom they exchanged scalps have 
perished from the earth. It is a totally different case from that of the Apaches, 
who were murdering and ravaging in the Southwest only ten years ago, or that 
of the Sioux ghost-dancers, who are still dangerous ; these proceedings are too 
near in time, and possibly too far off in distance, to contemplate with satisfac- 
tion. So our sympathies cling to those who tilled their fields with one hand 
while they fought off the savages with the other, and started a college amid the 
virgin forest. Kentucky is full of admirable literary material, which was too 
long neglected by the workmen in this sort of mine. She had indeed her his- 
torians ; of late she has her poets, Mr. Robert Burns Wilson and Mr. J. Madison 
Cawein ; at length she has her novelist. 


776 


AS IT SEEMS. 


Mr. James Lane Allen . — Within the last year or two the attention of the dis- 
cerning has been caught and held by a series of magazine stories the scenes of 
which were in and about the Blue Grass region. Apart from the charm of the 
locality, never before thus handled in fiction, these tales displayed a freshness, 
breadth, penetration, and pathos which might have adorned any subject ; but 
this field evidently filled the author’s mind and lay nearest his heart. A clear 
eye, a firm hand, with abundant local knowledge and sympathy, were evident in 
“ King Solomon,” “ Two Gentlemen of Kentucky,” “ Posthumous Fame,” “ The 
White Gowl,” and “Sister Dolorosa.” Gathered in a volume which took its 
name from one of its component parts, “ Flute and Violin,” these studies gave 
their author rank as one of both promise and performance, to whom much had 
been given in the way of natural endowment, and of whom much might be 
expected. 

Mr. Allen’s ancestor on the father’s side emigrated from Virginia ; his 
mother, from whom his early training came, was of the stout Scotch-Irish stock 
which colonized western Pennsylvania. At least two of his /progenitors were 
Revolutionary soldiers. Born in the fifties on a farm near Lexington, he gradu- 
ated with the first honor at what was once Transylvania University (pity the 
honored title was ever dropped), taught for a while, turned to literature, and 
spent some time in New York. One of his admiring pupils professes to “ know 
no man whom Nature has made quite so near what a man should be in mind, 
character, and physique.” The State pride which is the heritage of every Ken- 
tuckian he turned to its best uses in special studies of his native region ; these 
formed the matter of his earliest writings. His aim in this prentice-work, he 
says, was “ to train my eye to see, my hand to report, things as they were, as a 
preparation for imaginative work, which I hoped in time would follow.” It has 
done so, and his “ first experiments,” as he calls these stories, are of no dubious 
success. 

“ John Gray .” — Those who look for a rough-and-tumble tale of tomahawk, 
scalping-knife, and hair-breadth escapes by flood and field, will be disappointed 
in Mr. Allen’s first novel. It deals indeed with Kentucky in its early years, but 
not the earliest. Perhaps he will bend to the requirements of the sensational at 
some later day, go back another generation, and introduce us to his Indian- 
fighting forefathers ; but thus far his mood inclines to more peaceful themes. His 
hero has but one battle with fleshly weapons, and spills but little gore of his ad- 
versary and none of his own. Border rudeness is vividly outlined, but not long 
dwelt upon ; the bent of the author and of his hero is strongly toward the intro- 
spective, the spiritual side of life. The conductors of this magazine think with 
Mr. Allen that he has done no better work than “John Gray;” but this work 
is of the modern cast, and appeals chiefly to such as care for what M. Taine calls 
practical psychology. It is not an anachronism to place such a character on the 
frontier in the end of the last century; then as now there were gentle spirits, 
whose conflicts were chiefly waged on an inward arena. In delicacy, purity, and 
sweetness neither Mr. Allen nor any other of our writers has surpassed this 
simple story, “ sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought” though it be. The 
passage about the school-house and its frequenters, in the first chapter, will bear 
comparison with anything of its kind in English prose. 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


777 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 

It is not so much what one sees, in travelling, as how one 
sees it. Gayety and animation naturally assimilate what 
is gay and animated. If you take your pleasure with a 
grim face and a morbid heart, you will probably reach the 
conclusion that pleasure has put on mourning. If you take 
it as lightly as the authors of this captivating little book 
fresh from the Lippincott press, every object and every 
place in your path will overflow with quaint suggestion 

and endless novelty. 

It would be hard to find among recent globe-trotters more brightness than 
ripples in joke, anecdote, and humorous description over the pages of A Too 
Short Vacation. Even Miss Duncan, with all the light-heartedness of A 
Social Departure to support her reputation for wit, has not surpassed these 
sister travellers in that quality, nor in the more important one of selection. 
Out of the episodes of a journey beginning on this side and taking half of 
Europe in its course, these collaborators have, with the reader’s pleasure solely in 
view, chosen the most characteristic incidents of their tour and strung them 
together loosely yet consistently, but often with a grotesque juxtaposition which 
in itself is an evidence of their alert sense of humor. 

What could be funnier, for example, than the story of the demure young 
lady who, on the outward voyage, carries on a serious flirtation with a German 
baron? He helps his faltering tongue by frequent reference to a small red 
pocket dictionary; but for some unknown reason the affair comes to a sudden 
end. Sanguinelle has heard him murmur lovingly, “Ah, Fraulein, you haf 
sooch a beautiful hide!” and she wonders if this can be the cause of the cool- 
ness. Such happy bits of fun, mingled with Kodaks equally taking in subject 
and reproduced with a dainty artistic effect, make this book of two observant 
travellers uncommonly attractive alike to the stay-at-home and the lover of 

The designing woman is a never-failing resource of fiction, 
because she is so interesting a personage of fact. She is 
capable of almost any of the minor crimes, and will even 
commit the major ones under strong provocation. She is 
always picturesque, mistress of good taste, and insidiously 
dangerous. Here in the last novel of Annie Thomas she is all this and much 
more beside. Victor Dacres, son of a stately English family and heir to Old 
Dacres, its head, marries her in this instance, goes to-India in disgrace, and dies. 
She comes back before long, thrusts herself into the family circle, undoes a 
sweet courtship between her earlier lover-in-secret Sir Walter Larington and a 
daughter of the Dacres house, entangles Old Dacres, the Squire, in her allure- 
ments, nearly does him to death, and finally breaks several hearts more before 
the tragic end. 

As the mere material out of which to make a novel, this must appeal to 
those who like the pure amusement of fiction, rather than its ethics, as most 
promising, and any one who take3 up Old Dacres’ Darling for an evening’s 

60 


the footpath-way. 


Old Dacres’ Dar- 
1 i n g. By Annie 
Thomas (Mrs. Pren- 
der Cudlip). 


A Too Short Vaca- 
tion. By Lucy 
Langxlon Williams 
and Emma V. Mc- 
Loug-hlin. With 
Forty Illustrations 
from their Own Ko- 
dak. 


778 


BOOKS OF THE MONTH. 


pleasure may be assured that he will suffer no disappointment. It is written in 
a breezy vein with a quick succession of dramatic incidents, and it has been 
dressed by the Messrs. Lippincott in a garb of print and binding which makes 
its mechanical attractiveness equal to its literary interest. 


“ I have always made home the central object of my life,” 
stolen Steps^ ^By remarks Mr. Richland, who recites the Epilogue to this 
of Di, etc ' pretty domestic drama called Stolen Steps. The author 

also, one feels in reading his story, has a quiet love of home, 
which he illustrates with warmth and charm. Sorrows come and go, separations 
break the fireside circle, but there is a spell within the home as potent as in the 
magic rings drawn by sorcerers of old. Mr. Pierce has been touched by this 
enchantment, and he has feelingly scattered it through his pages. His book is 
one which will attract the numberless contented souls who hold with Longfellow 
that “ To stay at home is best.” 

Briefly, the story of Stolen Steps, which has just come forth from the Lippin- 
cott press, is that of a home broken up by an intemperate and cruel father. His 
wife and children wander away and find refuge in different places. He joins 
the army, and becomes a better man ; grows successful in business ; and is able 
at last to help his less lucky captain. When the scene opens, the various human 
threads are loosely drawn together at the lovely country-seat of Mr. Richland; 
and as the tale develops, amid alternate love-making and laughter, the skein is 
woven into a consistent design, wherein, after the good old fashion, deserving 
lowliness goes hand in hand with exalted worth. All this occurs in the neigh- 
borhood of Minneapolis, the scenery and characteristics of which country give 
a very definite locale to the book. It is certain that Stolen Steps will be quite 
as well remembered for itself as because it is from the same pen that wrote 
“ Di.” 


The South is almost an undiscovered country to most of us, 
From SchooHRomn an d h ence its hold upon us when it is presented in the al- 

w Koran. luring form of fiction. To say that it affords abundant local 

color may have a jocular sound, but it is unequivocally true, 
and, having at last discovered it, the native authors are beginning to assume a 
place all by themselves in our contemporary letters. Mr. W. H. W. Moran, who 
has just given us From School-Room to Bar, which the Lippincotts have at- 
tractively published, takes Virginia life for his theme, sketching with careful 
touches the career of a youth belonging to one of the old families who has a 
manly desire to begin a new pedigree, rather than to cling to that of his im- 
poverished family. His course in love and law is very pleasant reading, inter- 
woven as it is with the homely wooing of several other couples whose courtship 
sometimes collides with his own to the entanglement of the plot and the woes of 
the plotters. Uncle Simon, “with song,” as the play-bills have it, is a rarely 
good old negro of the slave type, and his dialect ditties are unusually sweet and 
true. The book is a tranquil idyll of a pathetic side of American life. It is 
written by one who evidently has himself experienced the episodes which he 
describes, and it has, therefore, the ring of truth which always makes the surest 
appeal to the reader. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


779 




CURRENT NOTES. 


A LETTER FROM MARION HARLAND. 






y 


y/^uj 






e2^ 




780 


CURRENT NOTES. 


PRIZE QUESTIONS. 

FITTING QUOTATIONS TO FAMOUS NAMES. 


The result of the April contest — subject, George Eliot: 

First Prize. 

She has fulfilled her mission. God transfers 
Or dims her ray ; yet was she blest as bright, 

For all her life was spent in giving light. 

From “The Star’s Monument.” Jean Ingelow. 
“ Columbia.” 

From Miss Fannie Hopstein, Syracuse, N.Y. 


Second Prize. 

He loved the will; he did the deed. 

Such love shall live. Such doubt is dust. 

He served the truth ; he missed the creed. 

Trust him to God. Dear is the trust . — Author Unknown. 

“Sara Andrews.” 

From Miss S. A. Rice, Falls Church, Ya. 


Third Prize. 

Honor to her, who, self-complete and brave, 

In scorn can carve her pathway to the grave, 

And, heeding naught of what men think or say, 

Make her own heart her world upon the way. 

From “ The New Timon.” Bulwer. 
“ Draxy Miller.” 

From Mrs. James D. Osborn, Cleburne, Texas. 


Fourth Prize. 

True to all Truth the world denies, 

Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin, 

Not always right in all men’s eyes, 

But faithful to the light within. 

From “ A Birthday Tribute to J. F. Clarke.” 
“ Teacher.” Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

From Miss Dora E. Pitcher, Boston, Mass. 

Continued on page 782. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


781 


LONG HAIR 

Is tlie glory of woman, and absolutely essential to 
beauty. To preserve its richness and abundance, 

the greatest care is neces- 
sary, much harm being 
done by the use of worth- 
less dressings. To se- 
cure a first-class article, 
ask your druggist or per- 
fumer for Ayer’s Hair 
Vigor. It is undoubted- 
ly superior to any other 
preparation of the kind. 
It restores the original 
color, texture, and full- 
ness to hair which has be- 
come thin, faded, or gray. 
It keeps the scalp cool, moist, and free from dan- 
druff. It heals troublesome humors, prevents bald- 
ness, and imparts to the hair a silken lustre and a 
lasting fragrance. Gentlemen as well as ladies 
find it indispensable. No toilet can be considered 
complete without 

Ayer’s Hair Vigor 

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. 



PIMPLES, BLOTCHES, 

Small boils, sores, and eruptions, which disfigure many otherwise 
handsome faces, may be effectually removed by the use of the 
Superior Blood Medicine, 

Ayer’s Sarsaparilla 

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. 

Has cured others, will cure you. 


782 


CURRENT NOTES. 


PRIZB QUESTIONS — Continued. 


The four quotations judged most appropriate after the foregoing are as 
follows : 


First. 


A nature wise — 

* % iif 

* • 

Wise with the history of its own frail heart, 

With reverence and sorrow, and with love, 

Broad as the world, for freedom and for man. 

“ Prometheus.” James Russell Lowell. 
“Steno.” 

From Miss Belle Teller, Seneca Falls, N.Y. 


Second. 

So well to know 

Her own, that what she wills to do or say 

Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. — Milton. 

From Nellie L. Drake, Minot, North Dakota. 


Third. 

True genius, but true woman ! dost deny 
Thy woman’s nature with a manly scorn, 

And break away the gauds and armlets worn 
By weaker women in captivity .* — Elizabeth Barrett Brotcning. 

* Submitted bv a number. 


Fourth. 

Thou large-brained woman and large-hearted man.* 

From “To George Sand: A Desire .” — Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 


* Submitted by a number. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


783 




“Castoria is so well adapted to children that 
I recommend it as superior to any prescription 
known to me.” II. A. Archer, II. D., 

Ill So. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. 


“ The use of ‘ Castoria ’ is so universal and 
js merits so well known that it seems a work 
of supererogation to endorse it. Few are the 
intelligent families who do not keep Castoria 
within easy reach.” 

Carlos Martyn, T>. D., 

New York City. 

Late Pastor Bloomingdale Reformed Church. 


Castoria cures Colic, Constipation, 

Sour Stomach, Diarrhoea. Eructation, 

Kills Worms, gives sleep, and promotes di- 
gestion, 

Without injurious medication. 


“ For several years I have recommended 
your * Castoria, 1 and shall always continue to 
do so as it has invariably produced beneficial 
results.” 

Edwin F. Pardee, M. D., 

“The Winthrop,” 1^5th Street and 7th Ave., 

New York City. 


The Centaur Company, 77 Murray Street, New York. 




Life insurance is a business, it is not a mystery. 
It is subject to the same laws that underlie and control 
all legitimate business enterprises, and can be safely 
conducted only on purely business principles. 

Its basis is the unclouded truth — the science of 
mathematics. 

Presented as a mystery it is a most excellent 
tiling to let alone. 

Life is too precious to be wasted in solving 
conundrums or grasping at guesses in the air. 

Should you desire insurance in a Policy-holders’ 
Company, 

No stockholders owning or controlling its surplus, 
Whose policies are plain business contracts, 
Clean and easily comprehended, 
Non-forfeitable, 

Non-restrictive, 

Affording security at lowest possible 
cost, 

Consult the “ Penn Mutual,” which is conducted 
in the interest of policy-holders, by policy-holders, 
for life insurance only. 

921, 923, and 925 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



784 


CURRENT NOTES. 


We have received the following from an eminent critic: “ I congratulate you 
on the sketch entitled ‘A Wedding/ by Julien Gordon, which appears in the 
last number of your Magazine. It is a highly-finished piece ot work, and 
striking not only for artistic but ethical reasons. The young girl who marries 
for any reason but the right one — because other girls get married, or because 
she likes the young man’s position, or his uniform — is a type with which we are 
familiar, though it has seldom been so sharply cut. But the fact that the young 
woman who enters so lightly into a very solemn contract is sure sooner or later 
to haxe her heart awakened, is enforced with singular dramatic vigor by making 
the awakening come, not later, but instantly, on the very day of the wedding. 
The reader would have pitied the bridegroom thus cheated on the threshold of 
his honeymoon, had not the writer’s art averted such sympathy by letting us 
see that the young man cared for some one else, and deserved precisely what he 
got. 

“ There is no doubt that a good deal of literary art can be put into a very 
short sketch.” 

The Spread of English. — The only foreign language learned by tha* 
most exclusive of all races, the Chinese, is a sort of corrupt English, — pidgin, 
or business, English, as it is called. But missionaries have done not a little in 
China, and much elsewhere, to spread our language, and there are few important 
nations in the world from which there are not some converts to Christianity who 
can speak it. 

Yet with all this we have not yet mentioned the agency which has done, 
and will do, the most to make English the universal speech. This agency is, of 
course, colonization, and the agents are English-speaking colonists. 

In a hundred years the United States will probably have as many inhabi- 
tants as China, and it is not likely that Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and the 
Cape will fall much short of half their total, especially if England be reckoned 
with them. Some have, indeed, been found to maintain that English will not 
be the language of the whole even of the United States, while others point to 
the vigorous vitality of the French spoken by the French Canadians, and the 
recrudescence of Welsh in the British Islands, as hints that languages die hard. 
But it is impossible to suppose that such considerations can affect the main ques- 
tion. There are already signs that English is becoming the literary language 
of Europe. Prof. Vambery, a Hungarian, published his autobiography first in 
an English dress; the Dutch author of “The Sin of Joost Aveling” wrote his 
novel “ An Old Maid” in English, and the author of “ The Crustacea of Nor- 
way,” himself presumably a Norwegian, frankly owns in his advertisement that, 
to obtain the largest possible circulation for his book, it will be written in the 
English language. — Macmillan’s Magazine. 

Jerked Beef. — A remarkable instance of the tendency to change and even 
mutilate a word in order to give it a familiar and suggestive appearance is found 
in the expression “jerked beef,” which is a ready English substitute for “char- 
qui,” the Peruvian word for meat cooked in smoke, or “jerked.” Such a liberty 
taken with a foreign word may readily be pardoned when so happy in result, 
but the necessity for changing “lustrine,” a French word for silk, into “lute- 
string” may be questioned, seeing we have many words, such as “ lustre” and 
“lustrous,” from the same root. But there is no accounting for fancies. — 
Chambers’s Journal. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


785 


THE CHARGE OF THE BRIGHT BRIGADE. 

On the floors, on the doors, poor slavey wondered 
Where all the smuts came from— 

Smuts by the hundred. 

Scrubbing from morn till night 
Rooms that would ne’er get bright — 

How missis thundered. 

Water and soap galore, used on that dirty floor, 

Yet the same greasy spots still remained as of yore, 
Grease-spots and nothing more — 

Stains by the hundred. 

Soap to the right of her, soap to the left of her. 

Missis in front of her 

Bullied and thundered. 

“ Susan, this floor’s too black !” Hers not to answer back, 
Knowing she’d get the sack. Susan renewed th’ attack, 
Then stopped and pondered. 

Down the street, down the street, sad, heavy-hearted, 

Into the grocer’s store, poor Susan darted. 

“ Charge — what you like,” she cried, 

“ I’m not to be denied, 

Only tell this,” she cried, 

“ What will make dirt go.” 

41 That’s very quickly done, stains you will soon have none, 
Use this” — he handed one 

Cake of Sapolio. 

Sapolto to right of her, clean floors to left of her, 

Missis at back of her 

Beaming with pleasure. 

Bright looked the house this time, 

Not a taint, not a grime, 

Sapolio used this time— 

Grand household treasure. 

Small is the charge that’s made. 

Few pence is all that’s paid. 

Ne’er will the glory fade 
Of this home bright brigade ; 

E’er to the front will go 
Morgan’s Sapolio. 



A Spring • 

^Thought 

-Patience is one oftfi^SX 
best of virtues . SAPOLIO'' 
is a patient. servant.wo rtf 
having in your householc 
during vour Spring cleaning 

Enoch Morgan’s Sons C° — "fl 


• New York 




-«v 



S#"' 


PeTTM,'| 

AM * 


786 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Spurious Works of Art Began Early. — That there were sham pictures 
of Apelles and Protogeues, spurious marbles of Phidias or Lysippus, and false 
gems of Pyrgoteles, in old Greek times, is more than probable. It is certain, 
indeed, that an infinite number of copies and imitations of the works of these 
immortals, on which, nevertheless, their names were shamelessly painted or 
graven, as the case might be, abounded in antiquity, and are now often enough 
unearthed. Every evidence goes to show, in short, that art frauds were as rife 
and universal in the classic ages of Greece and Rome as in our own. I shall not 
begin so far back. I forget where the charming anecdote of the irate country 
'Squire and his Rubens is to be found, — most likely in the Tatler or the Spectator ; 
in any case, it illustrates a case of mind and a condition of things which doubt- 
less prevailed just as much in the days of Maecenas as in those of Queen Anne. 
“ Come and see my Rubens. So and so says it is not a Rubens. Damme ! I’ll 
kick anybody out of the house who says it isn’t. What do you say, sir?” The 
credulity and obstinacy of amateurs and the craft and cunning of purveyors are 
doubtless quite as rife now as then. There have, however, been golden ages of 
art fraud, and we are, I think, living in one of them at present. 

The art frauds that have taken shape and substance, which remain to encum- 
ber the world as false coin ever circulating from hand to hand, are, then, of all 
times and periods. The archaeology of fraud even has become a science ; some 
of the overt and acknowledged frauds themselves have attained the status of 
precious and coveted works, more valuable in the strange gyrations of the wheel 
of Time than the originals they simulated. Michael Angelo’s marble Cupid, for 
instance, which he made in secret, broke, and mutilated, buried in a vineyard, 
and dug up again himself, all for the express “ taking-in” of a certain cardinal, 
collector of antique marbles and contemner of modern art, is a case in point. If 
this particular Cupid could now be identified, it would probably be worth more 
than the most beautiful, genuine, antique work of its kind which Italian soil still 
enshrouds. 

At all periods there have been men of true genius who have prostituted 
their talents in this service, but the rank and file of art impostors have been 
mostly vulgar workmen rather than artists, — ignorant, half-informed mechanical 
drudges, veritable slaves held in bondage, worked remorselessly by the astute 
dealers, their taskmasters. Here, as in all branches of trade, the middle-man 
takes the gross profits ; the forger is of small account. The utterer of the fraud, 
he who plants the vulgar sham on the unwary amateur, is the really important 
player in the game. — The Nineteenth Century. 

“ My Lady’s Dressing-Room” is the title of a book recently adapted from 
the French of Baronne Staffe by Harriet Hubbard Ayer, with introduction and 
notes by the translator herself. Mrs. Ayer, than whom no one better under- 
stands the art of beauty, has, with the Baronne Staffe’s book as a foundation, 
made a manual of the toilet especially adapted to the needs of American 
women. Not only are rules for beautifying the appearance laid down, but 
women are told how to take care of their health so that they may dispense with 
the use of cosmetics, and how to use cosmetics if they are obliged to. Instruc- 
tions for the care of the wardrobe are given with unusual particularity, together 
with hints for fitting up “my lady’s dressing-room.” The book contains a 
portrait of Mrs. Ayer, made especially for the purpose. Price, $1.50. Cassell 
Publishing Company, New York. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


787 



Sore Throat, 
Lameness, 
Influenza, 
Wounds, 

Piles, 

Earache, 
Chilblains, 
Sore Eyes, 
Inflammations, 


WILL CURE 



FAC-SIMILE OF 
BOTTLE WITH 
BUFF WRAPPER. 


Hoarseness, 

Frost Bites, 

Soreness, 

Catarrh, 

Burns, 

Bruises, 

Sore Feet, 
Face Ache, 
Hemorrhages. 


AVOID IMITATIONS. 

POND’S EXTRACT 


ACCEPT NO SUBSTITUTE. 

CO., 76 Fifth Avenue, New York. 


A Warning. — Hygienically, every man commits a crime against common 
sense if he does not wear the genuine Guyot Suspenders. 

It is an acknowledged fact that the Genuine Guyot Suspenders are not only 
the very best, most durable and healthful suspenders made, but are by long odds 
the most popular all over the world. Numerous imitations of the Genuine 
Guyots are being offered to the trade, and we beg to caution all buyers against 
these imitations, as they are barefaced attempts to defraud the consumers, and 
it is the intention of the maker of the Genuine Guyots to prosecute, to the fullest 
extent of the law, all fraudulent imitations. We therefore advise you to be 
sure to examine your Guyots and see that they bear the names of Ch. Guyot and 
Bretelles Hvgieniques. 

. . . The American wearers of the Genuine Guyots are aiding the manu- 
facturers to stop the sale of all fraudulent imitations. 

A firm selling thirty-three million pounds annually. 

Only of late years the use of chocolate as a beverage has been introduced 
in America ; this, however, to a small extent only, but if the majority of the 
public would penetrate the fact that using chocolate is as beneficial to the health 
as tea and coffee are injurious, how many dyspepsia sufferers would be relieved ! 

The most popular chocolate all over the universe is unquestionably Chocolat 
Menier. 

To form an idea of the importance of this immensely wealthy firm, it must 
be said that huge territories, covered by cocoa plantations and railroads, are their 
own, as well as sugar refineries and a fleet of steamers, etc. 

They claim and deserve the title of Largest Factory in the World. 


788 


CURRENT NOTES. 


/ 


What is Socialism? — The Courrier du Figaro of Paris recently called 
upon its readers and correspondents to give concise definitions of Socialism. It 
offered a prize of one hundred francs for the best explanation of the term which 
plays such a part in the life of to-day. The jury appointed to decide the contest 
was a distinguished one, consisting of Jules Simon, Leroy-Beaulieu, M. Lafarque, 
the Socialistic Deputy, and Abbe Gamier, the popular priest and public speaker. 
It is not probable that any one of the definitions will receive the place of honor 
in a future treatise upon Socialism or political science ; but many of the expla- 
nations were clever and epigrammatic, and thus fulfilled the object of the 
Figaro's contest. 

The members of the jury were unable to unite upon any one definition as 
the best; but A. Bellaique, administrator of one of the southern railroads, re- 
ceived the one hundred francs, the majority of the jury agreeing that he de- 
served it. 

“Socialism,” he wrote, “is a sum of theories and endeavors intended to 
bring about the greatest possible wealth or misery among all mankind by various 
means of legal compulsion.” 

Another correspondent said that Socialism was that state of society “ where 
the coachman of his gracious lordship could give up his seat on the box to his 
master without difficulty in order to take the latter’s cushioned place in the 
carriage.” 

Still another writer described Socialism as “ an ink-bottle, or fishing in 
muddy waters, or a cuckoo which breaks the eggs in another’s nest in order to 
lay its own eggs there.” 

Among the other definitions were : 

“Socialism is the opportunism of communism.” 

“Socialism is the money of other people.” 

“ Socialism is the egoism of the lower classes which seeks to strangle the 
egoism of those above them.” 

“ Le Socialisme c’est la faim (fin) du monde” (a play upon words that is not 
translatable). 

“ Modern Socialism is the revolution of the stomach which for a century 
has been following the revolution of the mind.” 

“ Socialism in the nineteenth century is what ‘ nature’ was in the eighteenth 
century, — the word which is in the mouths of all people and which no one under- 
stands.” 

“ What is Socialism ? For the politician it is an income of nine thousand 
francs and a free pass on the railroads.” 

“Socialism is the right not to die of hunger which the unfortunates have in 
a country where so many people perish from indigestion.” 

“Socialism is professed by a party led by the charlatans of social science.” 

Hundreds of answers were received, but these serve as illustrations of their 
character and variety. 

In an editorial in the New Orleans Times- Democrat, Agnes Repplier, the 
brilliant essayist, receives this recognition : “ Her voice rings, clear and happy, 
above the sighs and whinings of a low-spirited generation ; how featly she foots 
it among the literary problems of the day,— with what ‘joyful scorn’ she laughs 

away the pretensions of solemn cant, enlivening her theme with a fertility of 
wit that never flags I” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


789 


: SPARE WOMEN 

Thin women know how much beauty owes 
to plumpness. Beautiful women know how 
much it owes to comfort. Men do not think 
i of these things very deeply; beauty does not 
seem to them to call for analysis. 

What is thinness? Too little fat. You say 
you are losing flesh when you are getting thin. 
It is fat. You are losing fat; and fat belongs 
to health and comfort as well as to beauty. 

If a woman imagines she cares more for 
beauty than for comfort and health, it is 
because she does not see that there is no 
beauty without comfort and health. 

The means of beauty and comfort and 
health, to some who are thin, is careful 

living and Scott’s Emulsion of cod-liver oil. 

' 

A book on CAREFUL LIVING will be sent free to those who write for it to Scott & Bowne, 
Chemists, 132 South Fifth Avenue, New York. 

Scott's Emulsion of cod-liver oil, at any druggist’s, $1. 


Vol. XLIX.— 51 


790 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Future of Electricity. — If the electricians give us sunshine at 
night, they will have bestowed on mortals a godlike gift. We want, however, 
from the electricians something even more desirable than that. It is^a something 
they have often tried to give, but have never yet succeeded in bestowing on us, — 
a practical electric motor. In the first place, we want a motor which will super- 
sede horses for the traction of light vehicles. Imagine the convenience of elec- 
tric cabs and omnibuses! At present, not only five million inhabitants have in 
London to be fed and watered and provided with air and light and room, but 
five hundred thousand horses. If these could be dispensed with, the saving would 
be enormous. 

Nor would the saving in keep be the only convenience. Carriages and carts 
without horses would take just half the room now occupied. Electrical traction 
would therefore put an end to the congestion of traffic which is so serious in many 
thoroughfares. Instead of a cab, we should have a light arm-chair on wheels, 
with a seat in front for the driver, which would carry us in safety at eight miles 
an hour. Quite as great is the need for a good electric motor for housework. 
It is no good to talk about setting up in our houses neat little dynamos that a 
housemaid could learn how to work in a few hours. The housemaids never 
would learn, and we should soon find the neat little dynamo standing rusty and 
dust-grimed in the area, forgotten of man and maid. 

If electricity is to be any good in the house, it must come in ready in a box, 
— potted energy which can be applied, like grease, wherever it is wanted. In 
this shape it may have a hundred uses. The footman, instead of turning the 
knife-machine, will connect it with the electrical motor, the cook will use it to 
turn the handle of the egg-whisk, the coffee-roaster, and the coffee-grinder, and 
to turn the meat. In the laundry it will do our mangling and ironing. In the 
stable it will clip the horses, and in the gardener’s department pump the water 
and cut the lawn. Everything, in fact, that now revolves by the exertion of 
muscular effort, will be arranged to turn by electricity. When the electricians 
have given us the household motor, and not till then, shall we be able to say 
that man has chained the thunder-bolt and made it an obedient slave. — The 
Spectator. 

ft 

Humbug. — Edward Nathaniel Lewer, who was all his life connected with 
the London Stock Exchange, and died on May 7, 1876, aged eighty, once said 
in all seriousness that during the Napoleonic wars so much false news of politics 
and army movements came through Hamburg that anything that smacked of 
the incredible was received with the derisive phrase, “ That’s Hamburg,” whence 
is derived by corruption the word “humbug.” If the word does not date back 
beyond the period referred to, it seems a more reasonable derivation than the 
very labored one we get in Webster’s Dictionary . — Notes and Queries. 

Chinese Etiquette.— Etiquette is the most formidable feature of Chinese 
life. It applies to everything, and* has a force and meaning unknown to us 
“ barbarians.” Its ramifications at times are truly bewildering. It is considered 
very ill-bred to ask after the health of a man’s wife. It is likewise objectionable 
to remove one’s cap in the presence of a gentleman, to wear coat-sleeves that do 
not cover one’s finger-nails, to betray a small appetite, or to wear less than three 
coats in making a formal visit. There are a thousand other points equally 
whimsical. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


791 



LAROCHE'S INVIGORATING TONIC. 

GRAND NATIONAL PRIZE OF 1 6, ©00 FRANCS. 

CONTAINING 

Peruvian Bark, Iron 

AND 

Pore Catalan Wine. 

An experience of 26 years in experimental 
analysis, together with the valuable aid extend- 
ed by the Academy of Medieine in Paris, has 
enabled M. Laroche to extract the entire active 
properties of Peruvian Bark(a result not before 
attained), and to concentrate them in an elixir, 
which possessed in the highest degree its restor- 
ative and invigorating qualities, free from the 
disagreeable bitterness of ordinary prepara- 
tions. 

This invigorating tonic is powerful in its 
effect, is easily administered, assimilates 
thoroughly and quickly with the gastric Juices, 
without deranging the action of the stomach. 

Iron and Cinchona are the moat powerful 
weapons employed in the art of curing; Iron is 
the principle of our blood, and forms its force 
and richness. Cinchona affords life to the 
organs and activity to their functions. 

E. FOUGERA & CO., Agents, Ns. 30 North William street, New York. 22 rue Drouot, Paris. 


Do you not wish to save money, clothes, time, labor, fuel, and health, if 
possible? All these can be saved by the use of Dobbins’ Electric Soap. Try 
it once. We say this, knowing that if you try it once, you will always use it. 
Is it economy to save one, two, or three cents on the price of a bar of soap, and 
lose five dollars or more in ruined, tender, rotted clothing spoiled by the strong 
soda in the poor soap? Washing-powders, concentrated lye, and cheap soaps 
are low-priced, to be sure, but they are terribly expensive, taking ruined clothing 
into account. 

Remember, Dobbins’ Electric Soap preserves clothes washed with it ; bleaches 
white ones, brightens colored ones ; softens flannels and blankets, and contains 
nothing to injure the most delicate fabric. Ask your grocer for it. Take nothing 
else in its place. Read carefully all that is said on the two wrappers, and see that 
our name is on each. 

I. L. Cragin & Co., 

Philadelphia, Pa. 



GENERAL A 

Sil ioru RUE DUO U°.L— ffl! 



niMNsnKM'i’Jg .sni 
8? & T«Air COMPUT 

*•>.»«*» •!* W 

wuu*. ’» •» V “ 

. .. V "... .MMU '*■ * '.'Kg 


- ..a 

poikS fr. » 

'5 T nowvE 

fPAtict 


Endorsed by the Medical Fac- 
ulty of Paris, and used with en- 
tire success for the cure of 

MALARIA, 

INDIGESTION, 
FEVER and AGUE. 
NEURALGIA, 

LOSS of APPETITE, 
POORNESS of BLOOD, 

WASTING DISEASES, 
and 

RETARDED 

CONVALESCENCE. 



792 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Sir Morell Mackenzie on Smoking. — It will be interesting to state what 
Sir Morell Mackenzie considered the effects of over-smoking on the throat. He 
strongly objected to a cigarette “as being the worst form of indulgence, from the 
fact that the very mildness of its action tempts people to smoke nearly all day 
long, and by inhaling the fumes into their lungs saturate their blood with the 
poison. It should be borne in mind that there are two bad qualities contained 
in the fumes of tobacco. One is poisonous nicotine, the other the high tempera- 
ture of the burning tobacco. Most people, however, can smoke in moderation 
without injury ; to many tobacco acts as a useful nerve sedative, but, on the 
other hand, an excessive indulgence in the habit is always injurious. 

To any one who finds total abstinence from tobacco too heroic a stretch of 
virtue, Sir Morell said, “ Let him smoke only after a substantial meal. Let 
him smoke a mild Havana, or a long-stemmed pipe charged with some cool- 
smoking tobacco. If the charms of the cigarette are irresistible, let it be 
smoked through a mouth-piece which is kept clean with ultra-Mohammedan 
strictness. Let him refrain from smoking pipe, cigar, or cigarette to the bitter 
end, and, it may be added, rank and oily end.” 

“ Let the singer who wishes to keep in the ‘ perfect way,’ ” added Sir Morell, 
“refrain from inhaling the smoke, and let him take it as an axiom that the man 
in whom tobacco increases the flow of saliva to any marked degree is not in- 
tended by nature to smoke. Let him be strictly moderate in indulgence, — the 
precise limits each man must settle for himself, — and he will get all the good 
effect of the soothing plant without the bane which lurks in it when used to 
excess .” — Pall Mall Gazette. 

A Tailor-Made Corpse. — A certain Red John, who was a practised hand 
at making illicit whiskey in the Highlands, heard that the excisemen were in his 
neighborhood and were to pay him a visit. He went, in his extremity, to a 
friend of his, a tailor, and promised him a boll of malt if he would allow him- 
self to be stretched on a table as a corpse. This was done. The tailor was de- 
cently vested in white sheets, a plate of salt was placed on his breast, and the 
godly old women of the neighborhood sung their coronachs around the bier. 
As the excisemen were entering, a voice was heard from the tailor: “ Unless I 
get two bolls I’ll cry out.” The two bolls were promised, and Red John con- 
fronted his foes with a sorrowful countenance and an open Bible in his hand. 
“ You have come,” he said, “ to a house of woe. This is my only brother, who 
has just died.” The officers apologized and retreated. Some time after, they 
learned that Red John never had a brother ; but the information came too late. — 
Good Words. 

Mr. Lafcadio Hearn has been long enough in Japan to acquire what 
among us is called “ a pull.” Through this influence he was enabled to visit and 
inspect the Oho-Yashiro at Ivitzuki, the oldest and most sacred shrine of the 
most Oriental of countries, which was “ first built by order of the Goddess of 
the Sun, in the time when deities alone existed.” So he was informed by the 
Guji or high-priest, with whom he hobnobbed; as also that no foreign devil 
(though perhaps we are not called by such hard names in Japan) before him 
had ever got beyond the temple court. The place and the occasion are described 
in his own picturesque and sensitive style, always quickly respondent to local 
(influences* in r recent Atlantic article. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


793 


CROSBY’S VITALIZED PHOSPHITES. 


FROM THE PHOSPHOID PRINCIPLE OF THE OX BRAIN AND WHEAT GERM. 


Is acknowledged 
other prepara- 
pophosphites,be- 
the pure state 
vegetable life, 
tured from min- 
ratory. 



superior to all 
tions of the Hy- 
cause obtained in 
from animal and 
not manufac- 
erals in the labo- 


Composed of the very elements which are the production of nervous power, 
it is a vital food, permanently strengthening the brain and nervous system. 
For loss of memory, mental and physical exhaustion, dull, unrefreshed sleep, 
or weary sleeplessness, impaired vitality, night-sweats, relief of consumption, 
and to restore and sustain in vigor vital functions, there is no remedy of equal 
value. Endorsed by leading physicians. The formula accompanies each pack- 
age. Pamphlet free to those who write for it. Druggists, or by mail ($1) from 
56 West 25th Street, New York. 


None genuine without signature 




^f , ^ L r H MTT£R A ls AW®®' ^ET 
OR FILMS ftRE USED 

PRICE $I 8 ,QP ' 


^AY ; 5end /br Catalogue and copy of Modern Photography 

ROCHESTER OPTICAL COMPANY S. Water St. Rochester N.Y- 








ot A 



794 


CURRENT NOTES. 


London Postmen. — No whistles are used by the carriers in London. In- 
stead, they use the postman’s double knock, which is made by giving two dis- 
tinct raps on the door. Every door is provided with a knocker, and the doors 
are always locked : even the dwellings of the very poorest of London’s popula- 
tion are provided with their knocker and kept closed. There are no sky-scrapers 
of tenements or flats. The houses are generally three stories, with one family 
on each floor. There are perhaps a few that have four stories, but they are very 
few. Of course this refers to dwellings only. They have large office buildings, 
such a^«are found in any city in this country. 

The postman in England is looked upon as an integral part of the gov- 
ernment, and as such is treated with the greatest of consideration and respect. 
Such a thing as a carrier having to wait in the hall-way of a house for two, three, 
or sometimes five minutes before he gets an answer, as we have to do, and to be 
unable to deliver a letter and to have to mark it “ no answer,” is something un- 
heard of. When a carrier starts at the head of a street to deliver his mail, he 
gives his double knock on the first and second house, and the entire street, 
almost, is awake to the fact that the postman is coming. The result is that they 
are waiting for him. In an ordinary city block it would not be necessary to 
knock more than two or three times, once or twice at the head of the street, and 
again in the middle. The carrier never has to wait, and this enables him to 
make better time. — The Postal Record. 


Two Famous Jokes. — The memory of Theodore Hook, the celebrated 
English humorist, is very appropriately associated with the most audacious jest 
on record, — viz., his announcement, when recalled from his post as Governor of 
Mauritius on a charge of embezzling twelve thousand pounds of the public 
money, that he had come home “ on account of a disorder in his chest.” But 
the most brilliant of his comic feats was achieved in concert with his famous 
rival Tom Hood. The two were strolling one summer evening on the outskirts 
of London with their friend Charles Mathews, the great actor, when Hood said 
to Hook, “ They call us ‘ the inseparables ;’ but, after all, it’s only natural that 
Hook-and-eye should always be together — eh, Theo?” “Bravo, Tom,” cried 
Hook ; “ that’s the best I’ve heard for a long time ! I say, suppose we have a 
match which of us two can make the best joke on the spur of the moment? 
Charlie Mathews here shall be umpire, and the loser shall stand treat for a supper 
for three.” “ Done !” said Hood ; and scarcely was the word uttered when they 
espied a sign-board, the owner of which, wishing to advertise that he sold beer, 
had unluckily worded the announcement, “Bear sold here.” “Oho,” said 
Hook, “I suppose that bear is his own Bruin!” “Well done!” cried Charles 
Mathews. “ You’ll have hard work to beat that, friend Thomas.” “ I dare say 
he’ll do it, though,” said Theodore; “he carries more than two faces under one ' 
Hood: don’t you, Tom?” At that moment they turned a sharp corner, and 
came in sight of a small tumble-down house standing in the midst of a wretched 
little plot of worn and trampled grass, just in front of which was displayed a 
huge board with the inscription, “ Beware the dog.” Hood looked warily round 
him in all directions, and, finding no dog anywhere visible, picked up a broken 
piece of brick and scribbled underneath the warning, “Ware be the dog?” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you what it is, my boys,” said Charles Mathews, “ I can’t decide 
between two such jokes as those, and, what’s more, I’m not going to try; so we 
had better all go and sup together, and each pay his own share.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


795 



“We are advertised by our loving friends.” 

Mellin’s Food Bov. 



MASTER NOLAN, DAYTON, OHIO. 

Give the Baby Mellin’s Food 

if you wish your infant to be well nourished, healthy, bright and 
active, and to grow up happy robust and vigorous, 

OUR BOOK FOR THE INSTRUCTION OF MOTHERS, 

“ The Care and Feeding of Infants /’ 

will be mailed free to any address on request. 

THE DOLIBER-GOODALE CO., Boston, Mass. 



796 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The Thumb of Moses. — A Harlem young lady, religiously inclined, applied 
for a class in Sunday-school a few weeks ago, and the superintendent promptly 
placed her in charge of that doubtful honor, — the Infant Class. 

The new teacher went on pretty well until she ventured on the thin ice 
known as “ general questioning.’’ 

“ Now, children,” she said, with that extremely vivacious manner which is 
popularly supposed to fascinate young children, “ what did Moses do?” 

The infant mind worked on the problem for a few moments in silence. 

“ Come, dears,” said the young teacher, encouragingly, “ some one tell me 
what Moses did.” 

A very small boy on the fidgety back row seemed to be struggling with a 
reply. 

“What is it, Willie?” urged the teacher, encouragingly. 

“Hith thumb weighed a pound.” 

“ What?” asked the astonished teacher. 

“ My mariner says so.” 

“Says what, Willie?” demanded the perplexed teacher, while the class 
stopped fidgeting and listened intently. 

“She says every time Moses puts hith thumb on the scales it weighs a 
pound.” 

“Who is Moses, Willie?” 

“ He’th our butcher, mith.” — N. Y. Tribune. 

Thackeray and the Guard. — T hackeray was not a vain man, and he 
disliked vanity in others, and made it the subject of his ridicule and sarcasm. 

After long pleading, his family induced him to have his portrait painted, and 
Lawrence, a famous London artist, gladly undertook the task. 

Soon after the picture was completed, Thackeray chanced to be dining at his 
club, when a pompous officer of the Guards stopped beside the table and said, — 

“Haw, Thackeray, old boy, I hear Lawrence has been painting your 
portrait?” 

“ So he has,” was the response. 

“ Full-length ?” 

“No; full-length portraits are for soldiers, that we may see their spurs. 
But the other end of the man is the principal thing with authors,” said 
Thackeray. 

Spurgeon.— The following is a good instance of the ready wit of the late 
Mr. Spurgeon. Three young fellows came into the Tabernacle and settled them- 
selves conspicuously in the gallery with their hats on. In vain the officials re- 
quested them to uncover. Of course Mr. Spurgeon’s eye was soon upon them, 
and, leading his discourse round to the respect which all Christians are bound 
to show for the feelings of others, “My friends,” he said, “the other day I went 
into a Jewish synagogue, and I naturally uncovered my head ; but, on looking 
round, I perceived that all the rest wore their hats, and so, not wishing to offend 
against what I supposed to be their reverent practice, though contrary to my 
own, I conformed to Jewish use and put on my hat. I will now ask those three 
young Jews up in the gallery to show the same deference to our Christian prac- 
tice in the house of God as I was prepared to show them when I visited their 
synagogue, and take off their hats.” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


797 



Why You Should Use 
Cleveland’s Baking Powder 

It is beyond question perfectly wholesome, being 
composed only of pure cream of tartar and soda, with 
enough flour added to keep the strength, no ammonia, 
po alum, no adulteration whatever. 

It is the strongest. A rounded teaspoonful 
of Cleveland’s Baking Powder does more and better 
work than a heaping teaspoonful ot ^ ers * 

A large saving on a years baking. 

Cake and other articles of food keep moist and 
fresh and do not dry up as when made with baking 
powders containing ammonia or alum. 

“ Cleveland’s Baking Powder is ira 
steady use in my kitchen.” 

Feb’y 5, 1892. 


The greatest offer ever made 
by a reliable house. 

Dr. Judd’s Electric Belts aud 
Trusses on six months’’ trial. Far 
superior to any Galvanic or Box 
Battery made. The greatest Elec- 
trical Medical discovery of the 
nineteenth century. 

For male and female. 

If you wish Health, address Dr. C. B. Judd, 74 West Congress Street, 
Detroit, Michigan. 



Testimony . — Within the last eighteen months we have taken in something 
over one thousand dollars for Judd’s Electric Belts and Trusses, and thus far 
have never had a complaint from a customer, but have had many compliments 
passed upon them. D. M. Newbro Drug Co. 

Butte City, Mont., Jan. 16, 1892. 






798 


CURRENT NOTES. 


A Land-Lord Indeed. — The late Duke of Devonshire owned land in four- 
teen different counties,— Derby, York, Lancaster, Sussex, Somerset, Lincoln, 
Cumberland, Middlesex, Notts, Chester, Stafford, Cork, Waterford, Tipperary. 
The estates extend to 193,000 acres, and the annual rental is something over 
£170,000. Much of the land in and about Eastbourne was the property of the 
duke, and, like that in the vicinity of Barrow-in-Furness, has increased enor- 
mously in value of late years. 

The duke possessed no fewer than seven seats, the cost of keeping up which 
alone must have been considerable. They are Bolton Abbey, Chatsworth, 
Compton Place, Devonshire House (Piccadilly), Hardwick, Holker, and Lismore 
Castle. The duke had the patronage of over forty Church livings, the annual 
total value of which exceeds ten thousand pounds per annum. 

The founder of the house was William Cavendish, commonly supposed (ac- 
cording to Mr. Evans’s “ Old Nobility”) to be identical with that Cavendish who 
wrote the “Life of Wolsey,” and who has been immortalized by Shakespeare. 
The fifth duke was the husband of the duchess whose portrait was painted by 
Gainsborough, and about whom there is a story similar to that of one of the 
Duchesses of Gordon of her kissing tradesmen to obtain votes. It was the sixth 
duke' who formed the famous gardens at Chatsworth. The family motto, “ Safe 
by being cautious,” applies, most people will think, very fitly to the new duke. 
— Pall Mall Gazette. 

Not Eed-Hot. — A little knot of townsmen were wont to prolong their 
drinking-bouts, and when there was no law closing public houses at eleven p.m. in 
Scotland these sederunts extended not seldom far on into the morning hours. To 
try and check the doings of the topers on one occasion, at the hour when the 
couple of candles had nearly expired (there was no gas in our town in those days), 
a spectre of human build, but robed in white, and carrying a lantern under the 
enveloping sheet so as to produce a diffused red light, stalked solemnly into the 
gloomy room, and stood in what was hoped would be a terror-striking silence. 
As gravely as if he rose to meet some mourner, one of the tipsy crew stood up 
on his feet. Forming a bubble of saliva on his lip, he poised it on the tip of 
his middle finger, and, projecting it towards the supposed emissary of terror in 
a way that most boys understand and occasionally practise when in vulgarest 
mood, the swaying drunkard shot the moisture hard at the glimmering sheet 
and figure, with the one remark, scottice , “ Ye’re a gude while oot, or ye’d ha’e 
fizzed .” — The Spectator- 

The Obstinate Hat. — Lately the little sons of the Emperor of Germany 
were shown the mysteries of a chapeau-claque, or crush hat. Shortly afterward, 
in the anteroom of their father, they found a tall hat, and immediately desired 
to test their skill in shutting it up. Being an ordinary hat, and without the 
claque mechanism, it naturally refused to shut. At last one little prince, grow- 
ing impatient, said to his brother, “ Sit on it, Fritzchen !” Fritz obeyed ; there 
followed a loud crack and a roar of laughter from the authors of the mischief. 
The Emperor sent out to ask the cause of the disturbance. Pointing to the 
smashed hat, the young crown prince replied, with a military salute, “The ob- 
stinate thing wouldn’t shut at first, but among us we managed to make it change 
its mind !” The wrecked hat was replaced by a new one, which the owner will 
doubtless keep as a souvenir of a very amusing episode in the life of his country’s 
future head. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


799 


Make your own Kumyss in One Minute. 
Kumysgen, or Carnrick’s Kumyss Powder. A product 
of pure, sweet milk. The ideal food in all cases where 
nutrition is an important factor and digestion is feeble. 
As nutritious as milk, and ten times more nutritious 
than cod-liver oil and far more fattening. 

You can take sufficient Powder with you to your 
summer resort to last a month or two, as it never 
spoils. You can make it and take it while travelling 
on steamer or railroad. 

When all other foods fail, try Kumysgen; but it is better to try it in the 
beginning and save time and strength. 

It will perfectly satisfy your thirst and hunger. When you have no 
appetite it will keep up your strength. 

It is largely used by Physicians in all parts of the world. 

Kumysgen is the only preparation of Kumyss that will keep. All liquid 
preparations of Kumyss will keep but a short time, and are constantly changing 
in the bottle. 

Kumyss made from Kumysgen is far more palatable, easier digested, and 

less expensive than the old style Kumyss. 

* 

Unequalled by any other food for Dyspeptics, Invalids, and Convalescents. 
Send for Circulars. Correspondence invited. Sold by all Druggists. Manu- 
factured by Reed & Carnrick, New York. 



Dress Well at Low Cost. How? By dealing with the manufacturer, 
thus paying but one profit on the material. The Delaware Woollen Mills make 
Men’s Suits to order from their own all-wool cloths, at prices lower than you pay 
for ready-made clothes. No made-up stock kept. Every garment made to order 
from measure. Perfect fit guaranteed. Every variety of goods. Pants to order, 
$3.00 to $10.00. Suits to order, $12.00 to $35.00. Samples, self-measuring rules, 
and a tape measure sent free. Delaware Woollen Mills Co., Office, No. 10 
North Fourth Street, Philadelphia, Pa. Established 1825. 

False economy is practised by many people, who buy inferior articles of 
food because cheaper than standard goods. Surely infants are entitled to the 
best food obtainable. It is a fact that the Gail Borden “ Eagle” Brand Condensed 
Milk is the best infant food. Your grocer and druggist keep it. 

The Study of a Soap-Bubble. — The iridescences of the common soap- 
bubble, subjected to scientific analysis, have emerged in the conclusion that 
stellar space is a plenum filled with material substance capable of transmitting 
motion with a rapidity which would girdle the equatorial earth eight times in a 
second, while the tremors of this substance, in one form, constitute what we call 
light, and in all forms constitute what we call radiant heat. Not seeing this 
connection between great and small, not discerning that as regards the illustra- 
tion of physical principles there is no great and no small, the wits, considering 
the small contemptible, permit sarcasm to flow . — John Tyndall: New Fragments. 


800 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Early Iron Work. — The blacksmith occupied an important position 
among the craftsmen of the Middle Ages. The insecurity of life and property, 
which was one of the chief grievances of the times, made strength of material 
indispensable, whether to guard the shrine of a saint or to protect after a more 
homely fashion the family chest or coffer. The strength and durability of iron 
led to its use for these defensive purposes from early times. But the workman 
of the Middle Ages was not content to allow strength and ugliness of form to go 
together, but contrived to breathe a spirit of beauty into his designs without 
sacrificing the use to which the material was destined. Thus wrought iron 
formed the object of much artistic work both in England and abroad. Until 
coal came into general use malleable iron was produced direct from the ore with 
charcoal fuel by continuous working. Sussex was from early times a chief seat 
of the iron industry. The earliest positive record of the trade there is contained 
in a grant made by King Henry III. to the town of Lewes in 1266, by which 
the inhabitants were empowered to raise toll for the repair of the town walls 
after the battle. Every cart-load of iron destined for sale which came from the 
neighboring “ weald” was to pay one penny toll, and every horse-load of iron half 
that sum. In 1290 a sum of money was paid to a certain Master Henry of Lewes 
for the iron work to the monument of Henry III. in Westminster Abbey, which 
reminds us that talented smiths were brought often from long distances for 
important works. — Chambers's Journal. 

The Raised Hat. — The hat proper — that is, the raised hat — was first made 
in England, by Spanish hatters, about 1510, having been introduced into France 
a century earlier. The gay young courtiers of the queen — Elizabeth of im- 
mortal memory — shone resplendent in high-crowned hats of rare device, which, 
like the brilliant Raleigh, they hung round with strings of pearls. Kingsley 
describes his Elizabethan adventurer, John Oxenham, as having on his head 
“ a broad velvet Spanish hat,” and Master Frank Leigh as shading his delicate 
complexion from the sun with “a broad dove-colored Spanish hat, with feather 
to match, looped up over the right ear with a pearl brooch.” But hats or caps 
were worn according to taste or circumstances; and Scott tells us that when 
Leicester rode bareheaded at Elizabeth’s side on her entry into Kenilworth his 
esquire had charge of his lordship’s black-velvet bonnet, garnished with a clasp 
of diamonds, and surmounted by a white plume. 

By a statute of 1566, velvet hats or caps were prohibited to all persons under 
the degree of a knight; and by another enacted in 1571, every person, except 
ladies, lords, knights, and gentlemen having twenty marks a year in landed 
estate, was required to wear on Sundays and holidays a home-made cap of wool, 
very decent and comely for all states and degrees. But these sumptuary laws 
were openly disregarded. Stubbs, in his “Anatomy of Abuses,” describes a 
pleasing variety of new-fashioned head-gear, — hats perking up like the spear or 
shaft of a temple; hats that are broad on the crown, like the battlements of a 
house; and round crowns with bands of every color. This variety of shape 
consorted with an equal variety of material, — silk, velvet, taffeta, sarcenet, wool, 
and “ a fine hair, which they call beaver, fetched from beyond the seas.” Whoso 
had no hat of velvet or hat of taffeta was held of no account among the gilded 
youth of the time, and so common a thing was this ostentation in the matter of 
head-covering that “ every serving-man, countryman, or other, even all indiffer- 
ently, did wear of these hats .”— All the Year Round. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


801 


Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters renews vigor, and makes life worth living. 
It is an invaluable remedy for all disorders of the stomach brought about by 
unaccustomed diet and impure water. 



To the Tourist bent on pleasure or business, or the Emigrant seeking a far 
Western home, Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters is a useful medicine to take with you 
on the journey. It is a preventive and curative of malarial disorders. 

Ask your druggist for it, and see that you get Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters. 

D. Herbert Hostetter, President. Theodore R. Hostetter, Vice-President. 
M. L. Myers, Secretary and Treasurer. The Hostetter Company, Proprietors, 
Pittsburgh, Pa. 

Asthma and Hay-Fever. — There is no “ sure cure for every case of 
asthma” or “ every case of hay-fever,” but the worst cases, if uncomplicated 
by organic disease, can be cured to stay cured by constitutional treatment, and 
this at the patient’s home. We treat no one without a thorough knowledge of 
the case. Incurable cases declined. Examination free by mail. We want name 
and address of every sufferer from asthma or hay-fever. P. Harold Hayes, M.D., 
Buffalo, New York. 

i 

Soap for Supper. — Like all primitive peoples, the Maories are very in- 
quisitive, and, in the manner of children, are inclined to bring everything to 
their mouths to test its qualities. In the early days a party of Maories came 
across some bars of soap which had been washed ashore from a wreck. Finding 
that the stuff was too sticky to be eaten raw, they resolved to cook it. Accord- 
ingly, they cut it up into small pieces and sprinkled these pieces over the sweet 
•potatoes and fish which formed their evening meal. Finally they covered the 
whole mass over with fern-leaves and mats, and, putting earth on the top, left 
everything to bake quietly in the ovens till the evening. The scene at that 
evening meal must have been very funny. Not only did the tribe have to go 
supperless to bed, but the whole set of ovens was spoilt, and new ones had to 
be constructed before any further cooking could be done. — All the Year Round. 


802 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Costumes of the Sixteenth Century.— We should like to call attention 
not only to the picturesqueness, but to the convenience, of the male costume 
during the first twenty-five years of the sixteenth century. Many of our doc- 
tors are assuring us that an extraordinary amount of pulmonary disease is due 
to the fact that men are in the habit of going about of an evening much more 
lightly dressed than during the daytime, wearing waistcoats of a thinner mate- 
rial and open in front upon the chest, precisely the part of the body which should 
be most protected. Now, the doublet screens the chest from every wind, and 
can be made of the lightest material in summer and of the heaviest in winter. 
It is quite true that the legs were more exposed than they are at present ; but, 
at the same time, if we study minutely the drawings and engravings of the six- 
teenth century, we observe that in winter the men are represented as either 
wearing worsted stockings, gaiters, or long boots. 

It is a mistake to imagine that the streets of London in the sixteenth cen- 
tury presented a much more lively appearance than they do at present. The 
every-day dress of the people, even of the highest rank, was almost invariably 
made of broadcloth of a sober color, occasionally enlivened with velvet and smart 
ribbons. It was only on state occasions, or festivities, parties, balls, and public 
entertainments, that the gay silks and velvets and the cloth of gold were ex- 
hibited, and it must be remembered that so costly were the materials which could 
then be employed in male or female dress that not unfrequently parents left their 
best clothes by will to their favorite children as a much-valued legacy . — The 
Saturday Review. 


Thought-Reading Extraordinary. — At a seance in Dublin a thought- 
reader boasted that he could find a marked pin hidden by one of the audience. 
Several of them came forward, among whom was a confederate. The pin was 
hidden by a Trinity student in an adjoining room in the presence of the com- 
mittee, among whom was the confederate. The student, suspecting the man 
from his looks, slyly took away the pin from its hiding-place. On the return to 
the platform, the thought-reader gazed into the hider’s face, and, putting his 
hand to his brow, was blindfolded, and led the student to the hiding-place, but 
of course could find no pin. He returned, acknowledged his defeat, and looked 
daggers at his confederate. “Now, gentlemen,” said the student, “I’ll under- 
take to say that, if this diviner of the human mind will do as I tell him, half 
the audience, without a single hint from me, will know where the pin is.” And, 
turning to the thought-reader, he said, “ Sit down.” He did so. There was a 
yell, and, jumping up, the thought-reader hastily pulled from his coat-tails the 
marked pin. 


The Castor-Oil Plant. — No sort of bird, beast, or creeping thing will 
touch a castor-oil plant. It seems to be a rank poison to all the animal world. 
Even a goat will starve before biting off a leaf, and a horse will sniff at it and 
turn up his upper lip as though it had the most detestable odor on the face of 
the earth. Army-worms and the locusts will pass it by, though they may eat 
every other green thing in sight; and there is no surer way to drive moles away 
from a lawn than to plant a few castor-beans here and there. Even the tobacco- 
worm will refuse to be fed on its leaves. There is hardly another instance in 
natural history of a plant being so universally detested by the animal world. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


803 


What a Woman has Done. — She 
has reached the highest pinnacle of suc- 
cess. Madame A. Ruppert’s Face Bleach 
is a blessing to women. This wonderful 
discovery, which is positively guaranteed 
harmless, has done more for women suf- 
fering from blemishes of the complexion 
than any other preparation ever offered to 
the public. It has merit, it gives satis- 
faction. In every case of facial blemishes 
it is successful. This is the reason that 
its sale has reached such enormous pro- 
portions, and its use is common in almost 
every household. Judge for yourself the merits and demerits of the articles you 
purchase. The immense success which has attended Madame Ruppert’s every 
effort is positive guarantee that she does as she advertises. If your complexion 
is unsatisfactory, come to this eminent specialist, state your case, and you will be 
treated candidly. Face Bleach, the sale of which is equal to all other prepara- 
tions for the skin combined, is used all over the civilized world, and every one 
who has used it will recommend it highly. 

This preparation is not a high-priced article. It sells for $2.00 per bottle, 
which in many cases is sufficient to cure, though in the average case three bottles, 
which sell for $5.00, are required. 

Will your physician guarantee to cure the blemish of your complexion for 
$5.00? No! In many cases they will ask you this much for one consultation. 
Madame Ruppert asks you nothing for consultation, but if you will call or write : * 
and state your case plainly you will be answered cordially. Ladies, you do not 
know how easily and quickly your complexion can be made perfect until you 
try my wonderful Face Bleach. 

In order to give the public an absolute demonstration of the truly wonderful 
effects of my Face Bleach, I am now in search of a lady who has some frightful 
blemish of the complexion, who is willing to come to my parlors and have her 
skin absolutely cured. I will cure one side of her face at a time, to show the 
effect. Should this meet the eye of any one suffering from any long-standing 
disease or discoloration of the skin, will they kindly call on me? 

My Almond Oil Complexion Soap is unexcelled, and this month I will 
present to every purchaser of my Face Bleach a bar FREE. So that my patrons 
need not invest so much at one time, or buy more than they really need, I give 
to each purchaser of one bottle of Face Bleach a card, on the return of which 
they can purchase the remaining two bottles for $3.00, in case they need more 
than the first bottle. Call or send six cents postage for my new book, “ How to 
be Beautiful.” 

Ladies living at a distance can order my Face Bleach of me, and I will send 
it, securely packed, in plain wrapper to any part of the world. While using my 
Face Bleach, I am pleased to hear from my patrons and cordially give them 
the benefit of my experience. 

Responsible business women can secure the agency for Madame Ruppert’s 
preparations in towns and cities where not already represented. Correspond- 
ence cordially requested. Madame A. Ruppert, 6 East Fourteenth Street, New 
York. 



804 


CURRENT NOTES. 


He was Sorry. — There is a negro man at City Point so old that nobody 
knows how old he is,— one of those old knock-kneed negroes about one hundred 
years old,— all twisted and doubled up with rheumatism, who walks or crawls 
about with the assistance of two sticks, and is known as Uncle Joe. One day 
the old man was slowly making his way through the village street, when along 
came a white man, a very well known character in that town, half-seas over. 
He happened to have his rifle with him, — and a crack shot he is, whether drunk 
or sober. As soon as he saw Uncle Joe seated on a stump, he sang out, I say, 
Uncle Joe, let me put a potato on top of your head and shoot it off*. I will give 
you fifty cents if I bust the potato, or a dollar if I kill ye. The old negro 
looked up and replied, “ Do /ou say, boss, you will give me fifty cents if you 
bust de potato, or a dollar if yer kill me?” “Yes/’ was the reply. “Well, 
den, go ahead, boss 1” said the old man. The potato was placed on the top of 
the old negro’s head, and the white man staggered off about thirty paces and 
drew a bead. The smoke and fire shot from the rifle, and the potato spun high 
in the air. “Well, I’ll be shoved!” said Jim, “ I did do it, or I’m a sojer!” 
He staggered up to Uncle Joe, fumbled about in two or three of his pockets, 
fished out a half-dollar, and handed it to him. The old man seemed very much 
surprised ; it was a long time since he had seen so much money. He looked at 
it lovingly, bit it, turned it over, looked up to Jim, and said, “ Well, boss, I’s 
sorry I didn’t git de dollar .” — Forest and Stream. 

Ivory among the Ancients. — Among all these products of Semitic 
trade, perhaps the most interesting are ivory and tin. The question still 
remains to be finally settled as to what were the original sources whence both 
these precious substances were obtained. As regards ivory, there appears to 
have been a double source, the Egyptians and Carthaginians using African ivory, 
while the Assyrians and Phoenicians obtained it from India. The Carthaginians 
appear to have tamed the African elephant, — a feat now regarded as impossible. 
On the other hand, Thothmes III. encountered a herd of one hundred and 
twenty elephants in Mesopotamia, and shows an elephant as part of his Asiatic 
spoils. Possibly the Assyrians may even at that early period have obtained 
elephants from India. The Persians used them at Arbela, and the Greeks 
brought them to Palestine, as Pyrrhus (unless, indeed, his elephants were African) 
did to Italy. But the range of the Asiatic elephant may have been wider in 
early times than it now is, for it survived with the rhinoceros in Honan down to 
600 B.c. The elephant is correctly represented on the black obelisk of Shal- 
manezer II. (860-825 b.c.) with the rhinoceros; and other Bactrian and Indian 
animals (notably monkeys) occur as Assyrian bas-reliefs. The Phoenicians, as 
we have seen, obtained ivory from the Persian Gulf. In Nineveh, on the other 
hand, an ivory object carved in Egypt has been found, which is no doubt of 
African material . — Scottish Review. 

A Portland physician and a Bath theologian were in the Bowdoin Medical 
School recently, examining microscopic slides of peculiar glands. The physician 
began a scientific discussion, and the clergyman, becoming wearied of the subject, 
exclaimed, “You doctors know so much about the uncertainties of this world 
that I should think that you would not want to live J” Whereupon the physi- 
cian retorted, “You theologians tell us so much about the uncertainties of the 
next world that we don’t want to die !” 


CURRENT NOTES. 


805 



All through life she has known a mother’s watchful care. She now is a 
young mother, and gains strength but slowly. She would “give worlds” to do 
everything for her precious baby, but cannot ; the doctor is so strict, and does 
not sympathize with her, “ as mother always did.” 

That baby has unfolded, in the young mother’s heart, new emotions. She 
has a living responsibility, and requires strength to enable her to perform a 
loving duty. At such a time, too much care cannot be taken, and the Vegetable 
Compound is indispensable. Send stamp for “ Guide to Health and Etiquette,” 
a beautiful illustrated book. 

Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound is the only Positive Cure and 
Legitimate Remedy for the peculiar weaknesses and ailments of women. 

It cures the worst forms of Female Complaints. Cures Headache, General 
Debility, Indigestion, etc., and invigorates the whole system. For the cure of 
Kidney Complaints of either sex, the Compound has no rival. 

All Druggists sell it as a standard article, or sent by mail, in form of Pills or 
Lozenges, on receipt of $1.00. Lydia E. Pinkham Med. Co., Lynn, Mass. 


A Short Chapter in Guyot History. — A large outfitter, wishing to 
create a little stir in business, advertised Genuine (?) Guyot Suspenders at 
Twenty-five (25) Cents per pair! 

He placed in a large box a few of the Genuine and a large number of the 
imitation. Many buyers who bought their supply of suspenders were deceived, 
as they imagined they were buying all Genuine Guyots. 

One man, when making his purchase, asked the salesman, “ Are these the 
Genuine Guyots?” “Yes, sir, they are,” was the reply. “All of them?” 
“ Yes, sir,” was the reply again. 

A few days after this occurrence the large outfitter received word that he 
would be at once prosecuted for selling goods under false pretences, and it was 
only through the efforts of a mutual friend that the proceedings were stopped, 
with a positive promise from the outfitter that it would never occur again. 

This is liable to happen to any dealer who attempts to palm off to his cus- 
tomers, under the name of Guyots, anything but the Genuine article, made by 
Ch. Guyot, at Paris, France. 

Vol. XLIX.— 52 


806 


CURRENT NOTES. 


The First Forged Bank-Note. — Sixty-four years after the establishment 
of the Bank of England, the first forged note was presented for payment, and to 
Richard William Vaughn, a Stafford linen-draper, belongs the melancholy 
celebrity of having led the van in this new phase of crime, in the year 1758. The 
records of his life do not show want, beggary, or starvation urging him, but a 
simple desire to seem greater than he was. By one of the artists employed (and 
there were several engaged on different parts of the notes) the discovery was 
made. The criminal had placed a number of these forged notes in the hands of 
a lady to whom he was attached, as a proof of his wealth. There is no telling 
howjnuch longer bank-notes might have been free from imitation had this man 
not shown with what ease they could be counterfeited. From this period forged 
notes became common. Vaughn was executed, and many another lost his neck 
for the same crime before capital punishment for forging was abolished. 

I have letters from Dean Stanley that have been read for me by ex- 
perts (says James Payn), but which, unless I can recollect their contents, might 
just as well be still in their sealed envelopes. I have notes from Walter Thorn- 
bury which resemble Chaldee manuscript. In these days of type-writing 
machines it seems inexcusable that such enigmas should be presented to the 
human mind ; but in the first place many persons find the type- writer more diffi- 
cult to handle than the pen ; and secondly, in epistolary intercourse of the social 
kind some people consider the use of the type-writer to be disrespectful. Never- 
theless, we might take a hint from an anecdote told by Bishop Barrington : 
“ Out of respect,” wrote a correspondent, “ I write to you with my own hand ; 
but, to facilitate the reading, I send you a copy made by my amanuensis.” It 
is now well understood that the lawyer of whom Dickens speaks as writing 
three hands — one which he himself only could read, one which only his clerk 
could read, and one which nobody could read — was John Bell of the Chancery 
Bar. 

The Rochester Democrat relates a comical mishap which befell a young 
lady at her first dinner-party. Naturally she was somewhat nervous at first, but 
the awkwardness wore away after a little, and she was soon quite at ease. The 
dessert was being served, and the stately colored waiters were passing pretty 
little pink-frosted (cakes, to be eaten with the iced creams. A plate of them 
was held before the young lady, who looked them over, and said, “ I don’t care 
for any.” The waiter was moving away, when she saw, as she thought, an Eclair 
on the farther side of the plate. She was fond of chocolate. “ Yes, I will, 
too,” she said, reaching over for the eclair : “ there is one with chocolate on it.” 
“ Beg pardon, miss,” said the waiter, as she tried to pick up the tempting morsel ; 
“ beg pardon, miss, but that’s my thumb.” 

The most wonderful book in the world is one which is neither written nor 
printed. Every letter is cut into the leaf, and, as the alternate leaves are of blue 
paper, it is as easily read as the best printing. The labor required and the patience 
necessary to cut each letter may be imagined. The work is done so perfectly that 
it seems as though done by machinery, yet every character was made by hand. 
The book is entitled “ The Passion of Christ.” It is a very old volume, and was a 
curiosity as long ago as 1640. It belongs to the family of the Prince de Ligne, 

and is now in France. Rudolph II. of Germany offered eleven thousand ducats 
for it . — The Neivsman. 


CURRENT NOTES. 


807 


» 



II VI 

All Grocers sell GOLD DUST WASHING POWDER . 


N. K. FAIRBANK & CO., Sole manufacturers, 

CHICAGO, ST. LOUIS, NEW YORK, PHILADELPHIA, BOSTON, 
BALTIMORE, NEW ORLEANS, SAN FRANCISCO, 
PORTLAND, ME., PORTLAND, ORE,, PITTSBURGH AND MILWAUKEE. 


In an interior city (says the Bazar ) lived a family who had one of those 
domestics of the familiar heavy hand. A few years ago the town experienced 
a slight shock of earthquake. Pictures were thrown down, crockery and furni- 
ture rattled about. In the midst of the tumult, the mistress went to the head 
of the basement-stairs, and called out, in a would-be patient tone, “ Mary Ann, 
what are you doing now ?” 



Crystal Pepsin Tablets are nature’s only cure for dyspepsia and indigestion. 
They prevent dulness after eating, and induce a refreshed feeling of renewed 
energy. Delivered by mail to any post-office in the United States on receipt 
of fifty cents in stamps. Samples mailed free. Address the Carl L. Jensen 
Company, 400 N. Third Street, Philadelphia. Pa. For sale at all druggists*. 



808 


CURRENT NOTES. 


Chinese as Sleepers. — In the item of sleep the Chinese establishes the 
same difference between himself and the Occidental. Generally speaking, he is 
able to sleep anywhere. None of the trifling disturbances which drive us to 
despair annoy him. With a brick for a pillow, he can lie down on his bed of 
stalks or mud bricks or rattan and sleep the sleep of the just, with no reference 
to the rest of creation. He does not want his room darkened, nor does he re- 
quire others to be still. The “ infant crying in the night” may continue to cry 
for all he cares, for it does not disturb him. In some regions, the entire popu- 
lation seem to fall asleep, as by a common instinct (like that of the hibernating 
bear) r during the first two hours of summer afternoons, and they do this with 
regularity, no matter where they may be. At two hours after noon the universe 
at such seasons is as still as at two hours after midnight. In the case of most 
working-people at least, and also in that of many others, position in sleep is of 
no sort of consequence. It would be easy to raise in China an army of a million 
men — nay, of ten millions — tested by competitive examination as to their 
capacity to go to sleep across three wheelbarrows, with head downward, like a 
spider, their mouths wide open and a fly inside. — Chinese Characteristics. 

There once lived in the city of Mexico a Frenchman known as Otavito 
(little Octave), whose rogueries kept the town in a ferment. At one time he 
claimed to have discovered a specific for the rejuvenescence of women, and, by 
means of sensational advertising, he succeeded in gathering a clientele of forty 
or fifty ancient dames, who were assembled, on a certain day, in a long sala, 
tricked out with astrological symbols, crucibles, alembics, and all the parapher- 
nalia of charlatanry. The conjurer presented himself before the ladies, and 
addressed them in flamboyant language, ending as follows : “ And now, senoras 
of my soul, it is needful that the mystic ceremonies before us be opened by the 
eldest one among you.” Then, addressing her whose appearance seemed to 
indicate priority, he asked her age. “ Thiry-seven years, senor,” simpered the 
beldame, who was at least in the seventh decade. “And you, senora?” 
“ Thirty -six.” And so on, until he got them down to a declared age of twenty 
years, with the maximum of thirty-seven. “ Well, ladies all, you perceive that, 
without further proceedings, the miracle is accomplished,” said Otavito; “for 
the least gallant of men could not call her aught but young whose years are but 
thirty-seven ; and you see for yourselves that is the age of the oldest among 
you !” 

Nothing Wasted. — In Paris nothing is wasted, not the smallest scrap of 
paper ; that which every one else throws away here becomes a source of profit. 
Old provision-tins, for instance, are full of money ; the lead soldering is removed 
and melted down into cakes, while the tin goes to make children’s toys. Old 
boots, however bad, always contain in the arch of the foot at least one sound 
piece that will serve again, and generally there are two or three others in the 
sole, the heel, and at the back. Scraps of paper go to the card-board factory, 
orange-peel to the marmalade-maker, and so on. The ideas suggested are not 
always agreeable, and to see a rag-picker fishing orange-peel out of the basket 
is enough to make one forswear marmalade ; but there is worse than that. The 
most valuable refuse — that which fetches two francs the kilo — is hair; the long 
goes to the hair-dresser, while the short is used, among other things, for clarifying 
oils. — The Saturday Review. 


The July Number 

OF 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE, 

Ready June 20th, 

Will contain a Complete 
Novel entitled 

WHITE HEROH, 

By }VT. G. IVIeClelland, 

Author of “Oblivion,” “A Self-made Man,” etc. 


Also, 

THE NEWSPAPER ILLUSTRATOR'S STORY, 

By MAX DE LIPM AN, 

Also, 

GANOE LIFE, 

By W. P. STEPHENS. 

Also, 

PEARY'S EXPEDITION (illustrated). 

By DRS. SHARP and HUGHES. 

Also, 

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, 

By RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 

ALSO, STORIES, ESSAYS, AND POEMS. 

This Number will be profusely Illustrated. 

Oil LIST OF COMPLETE NOVELS CONTAINED IN FORMER NUMBERS, 

SEE NEXT PAGE. 


a 


THE COMPLETE NOVELS WHICH HAVE ALREADY APPEARED II 

LIPPINCOTT’S MAGAZINE, 

AND WHICH ARE ALWAYS OBTAINABLE, ARE: 

No. 294. “JOHN GRAY” (A Kentucky Tale of the Olden Time)... .By James Lane Allen 

No. 293. “ THE GOLDEN FLEECE ” By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 292. “BUT MEN MUST WORK” By Rosa Nouchette Carey. 

No. 291. “A SOLDIER’S SECRET” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 290. “ROY THE ROYALIST” By William Westall. 

'No. 289. “THE PASSING OF MAJOR KILGORE” By Young E. Allison. 

No. 288. “ A FAIR BLOCKADE-BREAKER” By T. C. De Leon. 

No. 287. “THE DUKE AND THE COMMONER” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

No. 286. “ LADY PATTY” By the Duchess. 

No. 285. “ CARLOTTA’S INTENDED” By Ruth McEnery Stuart. 

No. 284. “A DAUGHTER’S HEART” By Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron. 

No. 283. “A'ROSE OF A HUNDRED LEAVES” By Amelia E. Barr. 

No. 282. “ GOLD OF PLEASURE” By George Parsons Lathrop. 

No. 281. “VAMPIRES”... By Julien Gordon, 

No. 280. “ MAIDENS CHOOSING” By Mrs Ellen Olney Kirk. 

No. 270. “THE SOUND OF A VOICE’ . By Frederic S. Cozzens. 

No. 278. “A WAVE OF LIFE” By Clyde Fitch. 

No. 277. “THE LIGHT THAT FAILED” By Rudyard Kipling. 

No. 276. “AN ARMY PORTIA” By Captain Charles King. 

No. 275. “A LAGGARD IN LOVE” By Jeanie Gwynne Bettany. 

No. 274. “A MARRIAGE AT SEA” By W. Clark Russell. 

No. 273. “THE MARK OF THE BEAST” By Katharine Pearson Woods. 

No. 272. “ WHAT GOLD CANNOT BUY” By Mrs. Alexander. 

No. 271. “THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY” By Oscar Wilde. 

No. 270. “CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE” By Mary E. Stickney. 

No. 269. “A SAPPHO OF GREEN SPRINGS”... By Bret Harte. 

No. 268. “A CAST FOR FORTUNE” By Christian Reid. 

No. 267. “TWO SOLDIERS” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 266. “THE SIGN OF THE FOUR” By A. Conan Doyle. 

No. 265. “ MILLICENT AND ROSALIND ” By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 264. “ ALL HE KNEW ” By John Habberton. 

No. 263. “A BELATED REVENGE” By Dr. Robert Montgomery Bird. 

No. 262. “ CREOLE AND PURITAN ” By T. C. De Leon. 

No. 261. “ SOLARION ” By Edgar Fawcett. 

No. 260. “AN INVENTION OF THE ENEMY” By W. H. Babcock. 

No. 259. “TEN MINUTES TO TWELVE” By M. G. McClelland. 

No. 258. “A DREAM OF CONQUEST” ; By General Lloyd Brice. 

No. 257. “ A CHAIN OF ERRORS ” By Mrs. E. W. Latimer. 

No. 256. “THE WITNESS OF THE SUN” By Amelie Rives. 

No. 255. “ BELLA-DEMONIA” By Selina Dolaro. 

No. 254. “A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS” By Edgar Saltus. 

No. 253. “ HALE- WESTON ” By M. Elliot Sewell. 

No. 252. “ DUNRAVEN RANCH ” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 251. “ EARTHLINGS ” By Grace King. 

No. 250. “QUEEN OF SPADES,” and Autobiography By E. P. Roe. 

No. 249. “HEROD AND MARIAMNE.” A tragedy By Amelie Rives. 

No. 248. “ MAMMON ” By Maude Howe. 

No. 247. “THE YELLOW SNAKE” By Wm. Henry Bishop. 

No. 246. “BEAUTIFUL MRS. THORNDYKE” By Mrs. Poultney Bigelow. 

No. 245. “THE OLD ADAM” By H. H. Boyesen. 

No. 244. “ THE QUICK OR THE DEAD ?” By Amelie Rives. 

No. 243. “HONORED IN THE BREACH” By Julia Magruder. 

No. 242. “THE SPELL OF HOME.” After the German of E. Werner. By Mrs. A. L. Wister. 
No. 241. “CHECK AND COUNTER-CHECK ”... By Brainier Matthews and Geo. 1 1 . Jessop. 

No. 240. “FROM THE RANKS” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 239. “THE TERRA-COTTA BUST” By Virginia W. Johnson. 

No. 238. “APPLE SEED AND BRIER THORN” By Louise Stockton. 

No. 237. “THE RED MOUNTAIN MINES” By 'Lew Vanderpoole. 

No. 236. “A LAND OF LOVE” By Sidney Luska. 

No. 235. “AT ANCHOR” By Julia Magruder. 

No. 234. “THE WHISTLING BUOY” By Chas. Barnard. 

No. 233. “THE DESERTER” By Captain Charles King, U.S.A. 

No. 232. “DOUGLAS DUANE” By Edgar Fawcett. 

N0.231. “KENYON’S WIFE” By Lucy C. Lillie. 

No. 230. “A SELF-MADE MAN” By M. G. McClelland, 

No. 229. “ SIN FI RE” By Julian Hawthorne. 

No. 228. “MISS DEFARGE By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

No. 227. “BRUETON S BAYOU By John Habberton 

Single Numbers, 25 Cents. $3.00 per Year. 


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FOR SUnnER READING 


His Great Self. 

By Marion Harland, author of “ Alone,” “True as Steel,” etc. A Southern story 
of great beauty and of historical value. i2tno. Cloth, $1.25. 

“It is a stately and elegant composition from beginning to end, reproducing with fine 
tact the grace and charm of that courtly Southern life of long ago. In its pages one steps 
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of an old Virginia gentleman ; the gossip of scandal-loving matrons, the stilted, studied con- 
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is of romantic interest, and tender hearts will throb with the sad but never broken troth 
of Evelyn Byrd and Charles Francis Mordaunt, Lord Peterborough, lovers faithful unto 
death.’ — Cincinnati Commercial Gazette. 

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A REVOLUTION IN S.S. TEACHERS' BIBLES. 


j \pw READY. - - - 


The Holman 
Self-Pronouncing 
S. S. Teacher’s Bible. 





A whole library of Scriptural knowledge in a small 
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4 




fc**?^*~ BIBLES 

gaHjjA^Ha saasaa a aaaEH^ s mFnap aaaaag g ? ? p^ jgagaaoa 



Specimen Page of the Holman S. S. Teacher’s Self-Pronouncing Bible. 

flinion, 8vo. 


The sons of Shem. 


I. CHRONICLES, II. 


Before 
CHRIST 
4004, &c. 

2 Or, Hash 
Gen.10.2i 

3 That is. 
Division, 
Gen. 10. 
25. 

h Gen. 10. 
20 . 


t Gen. 11. 
10, &c. 
Luke 3. 
34, Sec. 
k Gen. 11. 
15. 

I Gen. 17.5, 
m Gen. 21. 
2. 3. 

n Gen. 16. 
11, 15. 
o Gen. 25. 
13-16. 

4 Or, 
Nadar, 
Gen. 25. 
15. 

cir. 1853. 
»Gen. 25. 
1 , 2 . 


q Gen. 21. 

2,3. 

r Gen. 25. 
25, 26. 
s Gen. 36. 
0 , 10 . 


5 Or. 
Zepho,- 
Gen. 36. 
11 . 

t Gen. 36. 
20 . 

6 Or, 
Heman, 
Gen. 36. 
22 . 

7 Or, 

A l ran, 
Gen. 36. 
23. 

8 Or, 
Shepho, 
Gen. 36. 
23. 

u Gen. 36. 

25. - 

9 Or, 
Henidan, 
Gen. 36. 

26. 

2 Or, 
Akan, 
Gen. 36. 
27. 


The sons of Israel. 


ram i an d Cz, and Hul, and 
Ge> thgr, and 2 Me'shech. 

And Ar-pliax'ad begat She'lah, 
and She'lah begat E'ber. 

19 And unto E b&r were born two 
sons : the name of the one teas 3 Pe - 
leg; because in his days the earth 
was divided : and his brother’s name 
was Jok'tan. 

20 And h Jok'tan begat Al-mo'dad, 
and She leph, and Ha'zar-ma veth, 
and Je'rah, 

21 Ha-do'ram also, and U'zal, and 
Dik'lah, 

22 And E'bal, and A-bim'a-el, and 
She'ba, 

23 And O'phlr, and HAv'i-lah, and 
Jo bab. All these were the sons of 
Jok'tan. 

24 1 ‘Shem, Ar-phax'Sd, She'lah, 

25 * E'bSr, Pe'leg, Re'u, 

26 Se'rug, Na'hor, Te'rah, 

27 1 Abram ; the same is A 'bra-ham. 

28 The sons of A bra-ham ; m Isaac, 
and n Ish'mg-el. 

29 These are their generations : 
The® firstborn of Ish'mg-el, Ne-ba'- 
joth; then Ke'dar, and Ad'bs-el, 
and Mib'sam, 

30 Mish'ma, and Du'mah, Mas'sa, 
4 Ha' dad, and Te'ma, 

31 Je tur, Na'phish, and Ked'g-mah. 
These are the sons of Ish'mg-el. 

32 1i_ Now p the sons of Ks-tu'- 
rah, A'brA-ham’s concubine : she bare 
Zlm'ran, and Jok'shan, and Me'dan, 
and Mld'!-an, and Ish'bak, and Shu'- 
ah. And the son3 of Jok'shan ; She'- 
bA, and De'dan. 

33 And the sons of Mid'i-an ; E'phah, 
and E'phgr, and He noch, and A- 
bl da, and fildg-ah. All these are 
the sons of Ke-tu'rah. 

34 And 3 A'brA-h&m begat I'§gac. 
r The sons of I'§gac; E'sau and I3'- 
rg-el. 

35 The sons of * E'sau ; El'i-ph&z, 
Reu'el, and Je ush, and JAa lam, and 
KS'rah. 

36 The song of fil'T-phaz j Te'man, 
and 0'mar, 6 Ze'phl, and Ga tam, Ke - 
naz, and Tlm'nA, and Am'g-lek. 

37 The sons of Reu'el ; Na'hath, Ze'- 
rah, Sh&m'mah, and Mlz'zah. 

38 And f the sons of Se'ir; Lo'tan, 
and Sho'bal, and Zib'^-on, and A'nah, 
and Dl'shon, and E'zar, and Dl'shan. 

39 And the sons of Lo'tan ; Ho'ri, 
and 6 Ho'mam : and Tim'na was Lo- 
tan’s sister. 

40 The sons of Sho'bal ; 7 A-ll'an, and 
Mang-hAth, and E'bal, 8 She phi, and 
O'nam. And the sons of Zlb'e-on ; 
A-l'ah, and A'nah. 

41 The sons of A'nah ; u Dl'shon. 
And the sons of Dl'shon ; 9 Am'ram, 
and Esh'bAn, and Ith'ran, and Che - 
ran. 

42 The sons of E'zSr; Bil'hAn, and 
Za'van, and 2 Ja'kan. The sous of 
Dl'shan ; tlz, and A ran. 


43 Now these are the x kings that 
reigned in the land of E dom before 
any king rej^ned over the children of 
I§'rg-el ; Be la the son of Be'or : and 
the name of his city was Dln'ha-bah. 

44 And when Be la was dead, Jo' bab 
the son of Ze'rah of Boz'rah reigned 
in his stead. 

45 And when Jo'babwas dead, Hu - 
sham of the land of the Te man-ites 
reigned in his stead. 

46 And when Hu sham was dead, 
Ha dad the son of Be dad, which 
smote Mid i-an in the field of Mo'ab, 
reigned in his stead : and the name 
of his city was A 'vith. 

47 And when Ha' dad was dead, 
Sam'lah of Mas'rg-kah reigned in his 
stead. 

48 y And when SAm'lah was dead, 
Sha ul of Re-ho both by the river 
reigned in his stead. 

49 And when Sha'ul was dead, Ba'- 
al-ha'nan the son of Ach bor reigned 
in his stead. 

50 And when Ba'al-ha'nan was 
dead, 2 Ha'dad reigned in his stead : 
and the name of his city was 3 Pa l ; 
and his wife’s name was Me-het'g- 
beL, the daughter of Ha tred, the 
daughter of Mez'a-hab. 

51 Ha'dad died also. And the 
* dukes of E dom were ; duke Tim'- 
nah, duke 4 A-ll'ah, duke Je tlieth, 

52 Duke A-ho-libA-mah, duke 
E'lah, duke Pi'non, 

53 Duke Ke'naz, duke Te'man, 
duke Mib'zar, 

54 Duke Mag'di-eL, duke I'ram. 
These are the dukes of E'dom. 

CHAPTER II. 

1 The tout of Israel. 3 The posterity of Judah by 
Tamar. 13 The children of Jesse. 18 The pos- 
terity of Caleb the son of Hezron. 21 Hezron's 
posterity by the dauahter of Machir. 25 Jerah- 
meel's posterity. 34 Sheshan's posterity. 42 
Another branch of Caleb's jtosterity. 50 The 
posterity of Caleb the son of Hur. 

T HESE are the sons of 5 Ig'rg-el ; 

a Reu'ben, Sim'c-on, Le'vl, and 
Ju dah, Is'sg-char, and Zeb'u-lun, 

2 Dan, Jo seph, and Ben'jg-min, 
Naph'tg-ll, Gad, and Ash'gr. 

Ji The sons of * Ju'dali ; £r, and 
o'nan, and She'lah : which three were 
born unto him of the daughter of 
c Shu 'a the Ca' naan-1 t-ess. And d £r, 
the firstborn of Ju dah, was evil in 
the sight of the Lord ; and he slew 
him. 

4 And e Ta'mar his daughter in law 
bare him Pha'rez and Ze'rah. All 
the sons of Ju dah were five. 

5 The sons of -^Pha'rez; HSz'ron, 
and Ha'mul. 

6 And the sons of Ze'rah ; 6 Zim'rl, 

0 and E than, and He man, and C&l'- 
col, and 7 Da'ra : five of them in all. 

7 And the sons of A Car'mI; 

8 A'char, the troubler of Is'rg-el, who 
transgressed in the thing * accursed. 

8 And the sons of E'than ; Az-g-rl'ah. 


Before 
CHRIST 
cir. 1676. 

arGen. 36. 
31, &c. 


.v Gen. 36. 
37. 


2 Or, 
Haaar, 
Gen. 36.39. 

3 Or, Pan, 
Gen. 36.39. 

cir. 1496. 
z Gen. 36. 
40. 

4 Or, 
Aivah. 


1752, &c. 

5 Or, 
Jacob. 

a Gen. 29. 
32. 

Sc 30. 5, Arc. 
&35. 18,22. 
Sc 46.8, Sec. 

6 Gen. 38.3. 
& 46 . 12 . 
Num. 26. 
19 . 

c Gen. 38.2. 
d Gen.38.7. 
e Gen. 38. 
29,30. 
Matt. 1. 3. 
/ Gen. 46. 
12 . 

Ruth 4. 18. 

6 Or, 
Zahdi, 
Josh. 7. 1. 
g 1 Kings 
4. 31. 

7 Or, 
Darda. 
h See 
ch. 4. 1. 

8 Or, 

Achat 1 . 

i Josh. 6.18. 
& 7. 1. 


373 


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9 

European travelers take their own soap along 
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American travelers do the same or go without 
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Why not ? 

Travelers steal it — that’s the name hotel-men 
call it by. Travelers probably think they pay 
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The Astor House has three-hundred “arrivals” 
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300 (1 ~A) 365 X .1 5 — $14,782.50 a year. 

It’d be an advertisement though; for every 
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8 


June, 1892. 


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line is, 

‘ Most busy lest, when I do it,’ 

and it has been a puzzle to every reader. The commentators quoted are fifty or perhaps 
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suggestions represent a very civil war of words in which the ink shed is tremendous ; 
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44 B es * ^Typewriting J^achine 

FOR ALL PURPOSES. 


TIE MM TYPEWBITEB (0., 


447-449 East 52d St., 
NEW YORK. 



^TABWI CK PERFECTION CYCLES 
I \JbHPTED BY THE A 


U. S. GOVERNMENT 




24 



F. A. SINCLAIR’S 

Common Sense Chairs, Settees, and Hookers 

Are just what their name 
implies. You cannot buy- 
more sensible, easy seats. 

Ask your dealer for them, 
or send stamp for catalogue 
to 

F A Siinrlnir mottville, 
x . xx. , onondaga co t N Y 

Special low freight to all parts of the United States. 



Established 1850. 

WILLIAM WILES 

MANUFACTURER OF 

STAIR-RODS, STEP-PLATES, 

BRASS BEDSTEADS ADD CRIBS, 

Fenders, Fire Sets, and Andirons, 



Hand anti Foot nails, Five Screens, Foot- 
stools, etc. 

223 AND 225 SOUTH FIFTH STREET, 

PHILADELPHIA. 

Send foe Catalogue. 



SEND 


for our list of 19 Cata« 
loss of Music and 
Musical Instruments. 

,V. Story. 26 Central St..Boston. Mass 



FIRST CLASS CURTAIN DESK 
4)^/, Fourand a Half feet long. Un- 
limited variety In stock and to order. 

American Desk & Seating Co. 

270-272 Wabash Av., CHICAGO, U.S.A. 




KEEPS 

Flour 

f£flF £CTLy 

DRY 

AND 

Free 

FROM 

Dirt 

VE*M' e N tc . 



Combines 

Bin 

Sifter 

PAN & 

Scoop. 

Aerates 

Preserves 

Flour 

FROM 

MOLD 


A , FLOUR t< 
d S\ tN ** 

Avoids the great Inconvenience of reaching Into 
a barrel or sack. No scattering. Saves time and 
waste. Once tried you would not be without It 
for many times its cost. Send for circular. 


Prices 
to hold 


f 


25 lbs. 83.50 
60 lbs. 83.00 
100 lbs. 84.00 


Your dealer sells them 
oroughtto. If he does 
not please write to us. 


SHERMAN & BUTLER, Manufacturers, 
36-38 W. Lake Street. CHICAGO, ILL. 


^be Latest 
Invention 
in 

Swiss 

J\Iusic 

Poxes 


They are the sweetest, most com- 
plete , tone- sustaining, durable, 
and perfect Music Boxes made 
(warranted in every respect), 
and any number of tunes can be 
obtained for them. (Improve- 
ments patented in Switzerland 
and United States.) 

We manufacture especially 
for direct family trade, and we 
guarantee our instruments far 
superior to the Music Boxes 
usually made for the wholesale 
trade and sold by general mer- 
chandise, dry goods, or music 
stores. Manufacturers' Head- 
quarters for Gem and Concert 
Roller Organs ; play any tune. 
Lowest prices. 

Old Music Boxes carefully 
Repaired nnd Improved. 

H. QADTSCHI & SONS, Manufacturers, 

I Salesrooms, 1030 Chestnut St., Phila. 



OUIJK. 

(TRADE-MARK.) 

PRONOUNCED WE-JA. 
PATENTED 1890. 




The Egyptian Luck 'Board, 

A TAUUMOAU. 

Most Wonderful Invention 
of the 19th Century. 

T HE “ Ouila” is without doubt the most interesting, remarkable, and mysterious production of the Nine- 
teenth Century. Its operations are always interesting and frequently invaluable, answering, as it does. 
Questions concerning the past, present, and future, with marvellous accuracy. It furnishes never- g 
amusement and recreation for all classes, while for the scientific or thoughtful its 

Invite the most careful research and investigation,— apparently forming the link which unites the known 
with the unknown, the material with the immaterial. It forces upon us the conviction that a great truth 
was contained in the statement of the Danish Prince: “There are more things in heaven and earth, 

Horatio, than were ever dreamed of in thv philosophy !” 

Manufactured by the “Ouija Novelty Co.,” No. 909 East Pratt St., Baltimore, Md. Alsp 

manufacturers of other novelties. 

25 


WITH THE WITS. 



Depressing. 


Vassar Girl Abroad (after giving her order in bad French), in English.— “ You 
are French, are you not?" 

Polite Frenchman.— “ Certainly, madame. Excuse me, but I presume that is 
the reason I did not understand you." 


26 




r^ c S clggd ctctc' . H . drdd .cd. cr . c? r d Sdgxiji d dddd ‘Z^7 r P7 T 7 s 7*7> r-» ?| 

MISCELLANEOUS 

End of Season 

must be thought of. If you’re going to have 
your flannels washed in the old-fashioned, 
rubbing, twisting, wrenching way, with 
soap and a washboard, then you’ll look 
something like this by the time the 
leaves fall. Flannel is flannel, and 
it shrinks unless it’s washed as it 
ought to be — with Pearline. 

Beginning of Season 



is the time to take action. Make 
up your mind now that your tog- 
gery shall be washed only with Pearl- 
ine (you’re told just how on every 
package) and you won’t have any 
trouble. Look up your last year’s 
suits and have them washed with Pearl- 
ine, too. 

They’ll look like new, and, if too 
small for you, will do for a younger 
generation. < 

rare of imitations. 329 JAMES PYLE, New York. 









* 'lignum 

Bend to 318 W. 45th 8t. , N. T. , for Sample* of 

— Over- 

comes 

mB m — — ^ „ __ _ _ results 

of bad eating;cnre« Sick Headache; re. 
tores the Complexion; cures Constitution. 



PENCILS 


IIXON’S hi 

Are unequaled for smooth, tough leads. 

If your stationer does not keep them, mention 
?PINC0TT’S, and send !6c. T in_ stamps to Joseph 


rriNCUiT a, turn acn-j. T 

xon Crucible Company, Jersey City, is. 
triples worth double the money. 


r AT T pApTTTJ 

' iUjJj 1 ill nil our handsome papers, with 
rdersto match, at I Union Wall Paper Co., 1638 
narkably low prices. I Market Street , Fnlia,, ■ 


BOILING WATER OR MILK. 

EPPS’S 

grateful-comforting. 

coc 

LABELLED 1-2 LB. TINS ONLY. 




Catalogue and Rules of the 
m Game 
21 Free. 




\S pedal Discount to Clubs. 

PECK & SNYD ER, 126 Nassau Street, N.Y. 

Credenda Bicycles, $90 

I A L.1 a.1. MMM/I a m n t a 


A high grade machine at a 
popular price. 

{ A. G. Spalding & Bros. 

NEW YORK. CHICAGO. PHIL’A. f 

Catalogue Free. 



B ARRY’S TRICOPH EROyS 

* hair 


An elegant dressing exquisitely perfumed, remo-ves all 
impurities from the scalp, preven ts baldness andgray hair, 
and causes the hair to grow Thick, Soft and Beautiful. In- 
fallible for curing eruptions, diseases of the skin, glandsand 
muscles, and quickly healing cuts, bums, bruises, sprains, 
&c. All Druggists or by Mail, Spots* 
BARCLAY & Co., 44 Stone St., New 


AND 


SKIN. 

ESTABLISHED 1801 





RHILROKDS 

P'^P^-p'PPf P'^PPP ^ rJ ^ PP'rJ^TTW^Pm aSH 



READING RAILROAD 


Between . . jVjg^ Yo^k and 

Philadelphia. 



THE ROYAL BLUE LINE. 


Vestibuled Trains of Luxuriously Appointed Coaches, 
Pullman Parlor, Buffet, Dining and Sleeping Cars. 

RUNNING ON THE 

FINEST TRACK IN THE WORLD. 



r T , HB ROYAL BLUE LINE has achieved and will main- 
^ tain the reputation of being the best-equipped and 
best-conducted route of travel in America. Its trains are 
the fastest that run between Philadelphia and New York. 
They are provided with every modern convenience and every 
approved appliance to ensure safety. They start promptly 
at the appointed minute, and arrive at their destination 
positively u on time.” 

Stations • TWENTY - FCURTH and chestnut sts. 

and NINTH and GREEN STREETS. 

Hem York Station: FOOT OF LIBERTY STREET, NORTH RIVER. 


Philadelphia 


A. A. McLEOD, 

President and General Manager. 


28 


C. G. HANCOCK, 
General Passenger Agent. 



Ask your dealer or send for catalogue. 


Mention Lippincott’s. 


A. W. FABER’S LEAD PENCILS, 

Pen-holders, Rubber Bands, and Pencil Sharpeners. 

If you cannot obtain these goods from your Stationer, send 80 cents for samples. 


EBBBHABD IP .A. IB IE 3B, 

CHICAGO. SOLE AGENT AND MANUFACTURER. NHW YORK. 





Til |Q it- and send with your name and ex- 

UU I I nlO WU I press office address and we will send 
you Tree to examine and wear, a SOLID GOLD finished watch that 
you can sell for Ten Dollars. If it suits you, send us Four Dollars 
and express charges ; if not, return it to me. Mention whether 
Ladies' or Gents’ size is desired. 

w. S. SIMPSON, 37 College Place, N. Y. 


C DIDDI CC Ladies and girls 
r% I ■ ■ In Ei O; if you want air 

or exercise, buy a Fairy Tricycle— 

J^RICYCLES. 

Address U Cheap for all. 

FAY MFG. GO., Elyria, O. 




ESTABLISHED 1846. 


FRANKLIN 

PRINTING IKK WORKS, 

JOHN WOODRUFF’S SONS, 

1317 and 1310 Cherry' Street, 


GOOD LADY WRITERS wanted TO DO 

copying at home. Address P. L. Supply Co., Lima, O. 

PEOPLE! WEIGHT REDUCED 
WITHOUT STARVATION DIET. 
Treatise and Instruction for 4 stampa 
E.K.LYNTON. 19 Park Place. New York. 



Send 26c. for Samples worth double. 


PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

ThisMagarine is printed with JohnWoodrnff’s Sons’ Inks. 


INDELIBLE 

For marking on Linen with 
a common pen. Established 
over 50 years. Sold by all 
Druggists and Stationers in the U. S. If your dealer 
does not keep It, send 25c. for a bottle, post-paid, to 
A. L. WUliston, Mfgr., Northampton, Maas. 







WITH THE WITS. 



French Artist. — “ I have some several pictures hung in America, monsieur.” 
Crusty American. — “That shouldn’t surprise you: it’s the usual mode of 
execution there. Possibly, in this country they would have been guillotined.” 


An Overcharged Battery. 

Excess of vigor makes offence : 
Some good is merely indolence. 
30 






c' jd d.d . rf HHHHH^HHcidxiEHj- 1 r 3 t=t 

WEHRING KPPSREL 

mrp -pfr^mr PTO p ^ rJ .pprp.^ 7J ?? p ???; j?7J - 3 . rJ 

Better than Whalebone 

Coraline is not an experiment, but has 
stood tbe test for twelve years in over 
twenty millions of corsets and dresses. It 

is lighter than 
whalebone, more 
flexible, and ab- 
solutely unbreak- 
able. 

Dr. Warner’s 
Coraline Corsets 
lead the world in 
sales, and in their 
high standard of 
excellence. They 
are light in 

weight^and are made in 24 styles to fit every 
figure. 

Long waist and black corsets a specialty. 

Prices from one to five dollars each. 

Sold Everywhere. 

WARNER BROTHERS, New York and Chicago. 




"bCf* 

If Philadelphians 

Were aware of the marvellous 
showing the World's Fair is 
already making , there would he 
many a trip planned already , 
to spend a week in ^ T , 

Chicago . 

You could save a good portion 
of your passage money by buy- 

ingyour Dry Goods 

at this house. Send a post- 
card request , anyway , for our 

new Shopping Guide. 

So you will get a “line” on us. It's 
the liveliest Dry Goods concern in the 
United States. Must be a reason for it. 







m i nw sham 

ILLUll sham holder. Mine are in sets of 
iree, nicely nickel-plated, with 4 A PETMTv 
jrews complete and directions III IjT II I wl 
)r putting up. They will last a 
fetime. Mailed, post-paid, to any address for 10 
»nts a set ; one dozen sets, 75 cents. Agents w anted. 

T. M. GANDY, Cedarville, Conn. 

31 


EVERYTHING IN RUBBER GOODS. 



It is especially constructed for massaging the skin. 
It removes all roughness and dead cuticle , smoothing 
out the wrinkles, rendering the skin soft and pliant, 
and tinted with a healthy glow. 

For physical development it is recommended by 
the highest in the profession, for improving the circula- 
tion, exercisina the muscles, and promoting a healthy 
action of the skin. 

The simplest form of massage is this: To rub the 
forehead sideways and lengthwise with the brush 
every night and morning, especially dwelling on 
the tiny space between the eyebrows, where a 
“ pucker ’ usually comes, and on each side of the 
mouth, where the lines so generally come. These are 
to be rubbed upwards, and after a while the whole 
face will become even and soft. This carefully fol- 
lowed, night and morning, will not fail to have its 
effect upon the homeliest face. 

For the bath it will be found a perfect luxury by 
both old and young. The brush is all one piece, and 
as soft as silk. Mailed upon receipt of price, 50 cents. 
For sale by all dealers in Toilet Goods. Catalogue 
mailed free. 

C. J. BAILEY & CO., ^Boalon, i>Iass. ’ 



I 


HANDLEY CROSS 
SPORTING NOVELS. 


THE 

“ JORROCKS M 
EDITION. 


Price, $2.25 per volume. 


With Illustrations. 


Just published, in connection with Bradbury, Agnew & Co., 
of London, a new Crown 8vo Edition. 



O F the books which have attained to the position of being perennial favorites with the audi- 
ence to whom they appeal — living as if no rivalry could dislodge them — a foremost place 
has long been held by the Handley Cross series of volumes, which are now just as 
much the favorite reading of those who are interested in the exploits of the hunting-field, as 
they have been since their first publication. 

The fictitious heroes, whose doings and sayings inspire these favorite volumes, provide a 
nomenclature which is as much embedded in the phraseology of sport as those of Thackeray or 
Dickens are in our national literature. In what hunting circles may it not be said that the 
names of Jorrocks and Soapey Sponge and Facey Romford are “ familiar in their mouths as 
household words” ? 

The Handley Cross Sporting Novels have hitherto, by reason of their price, been 
somewhat beyond the attainment of that extensive and constantly enlarging section who have 
learned to take delight in the out-of-door amusements which brighten rural life, but whose 
acquaintance with books comes through the circulating library and not from possession. 

By this publication, every one whose delight is in a “ finest run across country that ever 
was seen,” and whose ambition is “ to be in at the finish,” may have as his abiding companions 
on his own book-case, within reach of his easy-chair, the histories of Jorrocks and Sponge 
and Romford, and others of the famous creation, in a handsome and handy form; having the 
pages brightened by a selection from the original illustrations to give an added vividness to the 
exhilarating raciness of the author’s humor. 

The selections from the original illustrations given in each volume are printed in the text, 
and, in addition to these, a frontispiece and several separate page illustrations are printed on 
toned paper. 


L/ST OF THE NOVELS. 

HANDLEY CROSS; or, Mr. Jorrocks’s Hunt. Many sketches on wood. 

ASK MAMMA; or, The Richest Commoner in England. Many sketches 
on wood. 

MR. FACEY ROMFORD’S HOUNDS. 

SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR. Many sketches on wood. 

PLAIN OR RINGLETS? Many sketches on wood. 

HAWBUCK GRANGE; or, The Sporting Adventures of Thomas 
Scott, Esq.. 

This inimitable series of volumes is absolutely unique, there being nothing approaching to 
them in all the wide range of modern or ancient literature. Written by Mr. Surtees, a well- 
known country gentleman, who was passionately devoted to the healthy sport of fox-hunting, 
and gifted with a keen spirit of manly humor of a Rabelaisian tinge, they abound with incidents 
redolent of mirth and jollity. The artist, Mr. Leech, was himself also an enthusiast in the 
sport, and has reflected in his illustrations, with instinctive appreciation, the rollicking abandon 
of the author’s stories. 


For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price. 

J. B. MPPIflCOTT COMPANY, 715 and 717 Jttarket Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

32 * 



^TOILET 7Y RTICLES-^ 




CARMEL. SOAP is made only from sweet olive 
oil by a Mission Society in Palestine. Being abso- 
lutely pure, and possessing the emollient proper- 
ties oj' olive oil, it is unsurpassed for the ioilet and 
the bath, and superior to all other soaps for the teeth 
and hair. It is the only perfectly sale soap for the 
NURSERY and invalids. If your druggist or grocer 
does not keep it, send 15 cents for sample cake to 
the importer, A. KLIPSTEIN, 

122 Pearl St., New York. 

MmeT A. R U PPERT’S FACE BLEACHT 

Its wonderful effect is 
known in almost every 
household. Thousands 
who had diseases and dis- 
coloration of the skin (in- 
cluding moths, freckles, 
sallowness, excessive red- 
ness, pimples, blackheads, 
olliness, etc.) have had 
their hearts gladdened by 
Its use. 

IT IS ABSOLUTE- 
LY HARMLESS, all 

prominent physicians 
recommend it. It does 
not drive the impurities 
in, but draws them out. 
It is not a cosmetic to 
cover up, but a cure. 

. ITS PRICE IS 
^REASONABLE. 

v * One bottle, which 

costs $2, is often sufficient to cure; or three bottles, usually 
required, *5. Preparations sent, securely packed in a plain 
wrapper. Mme. Ruppert’s book “ How to be Beautiful, 
sent for 6 cents. Mme. A. Rufpebt, 6 East 14tn St., .N. *• 




HAIR DESTROYED FOREVER 

By Electric Needle, 

at office or by patient at home. Can’t 
Fail. Book with facts lOeta. Address 

Dr. J. VanDYCK, Electro Surgeon, 

1103 Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 



days on trial, Rood’s Magic Beale, the popu- 
lar Ladles’ Tailoring System. Illustrated cir- 
cular free. Rood Magic Scale Co., Chicago, 111. 



JAPANESE 

fi 



Cj urb 


A cure for Piles, External, Internal, Blind, Bleed 
ing, and Itching, Chronic, Recent, or Hereditary. 
This remedy has positively never been known to tail. 
SI a box, six for $5, by mail. A written guarantee 
» iven with six boxes, when purchased at one time, 
to refund the $5 if not cured. Guarantee issued by 
Finnerty, McClure & Co., Wholesale and Retail 
Agents, 106 Market Street, Philadelphia, Penna. 


Vnd your name and express-office address a A^D^nkhed 
we will send you free to examine, a SOLID nniMun 

watch that you can sell for *10. i/ it suits, send us M; U not, ^re- 
turn it. \V. 8. SIMPSON. 87 Colle ge Place New York. 


SILK ELASTIC 

ABDOMINAL 
SUPPORTER 

Safely sent by mail on receipt of 
price, §5. Elastic Stock- 
ings, Trusses. Pamphlet./ ree. — 

C 3 W. FLAVELL & BRO.^ Sp.unrden St., 


^uiuiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiiiiniiiiuiiiuuiiiiyiiiiiiiiuiiiuuii;/^ 

.<8? O 


LOVELY FACES, 
WHITE HANDS.f 

Nothing will 5 

WHITEN and CLEAR 3 
the akin so quickly asp 



Derma-Hoy ale | 

The new discovery for* dissolv-c 


s ing and removing discolorations from the cuticle, g 

2 and bleaching and brightening the complexion. In 3 
S experimenting in the laundry with a new bleach for 3 
E fine fabrics it was discovered that all spots v freckIeev 3 

3 tan, and other discolorations were quickly removed g 

2 from the hands and arms without the slightest in- 3 
= jwy to the skin. The discovery was submitted to 3 

3 experienced Dermatologists and Physicians who pre- a 
2 pared for us the formula of the marvelous Derma- a 

2 iioyale. there never was anythinu i.ikb it. It is3 
5 perfectly harmless and so simple achilcT can use it, 3 

3 Apply at night— the improvement apparent after a. a 
3 single application will surprise and delight you. It 3 

2 quickly dissolves and removes the worst forms of 3 

3 moth-patches, brown or liver spots, freckles, black- 3 
= heads, blotches, eallovvness, redness, tun anti every a 
2 discoloration of the cuticle. One bottle completely a 

2 removes and cures the most aggravated case and — 

3 thoroughly clears, whitens and beautifies the com- 3 
3 plexion. It has never failed— it cannot fail. Itisa 
3 highly recommended by Physicians anti its sure a 

2 results warrant us in offering _ s 

s <r ir rvf\ REWARD — To assure the public of its 3 

3 d)DlJU tau - merits we agree to forfeit = 

2 Five Hundred Dollars cash, for any case of moth- a 

3 patches, brown spots, liver spots, blackheads, ugly a 
2 or muddy skin, unnatural redness, freckles, tan or a 

2 any other cutaneous discolorations, (excepting birtlp g 

3 marks, scars, and those of a scrofulous or kindred 3 
3 nature) that Derma-Royale will not quickly remove a 

2 and cure. We also agree to forfeit Five Hundred g 

3 Dollars to any person whose skin can bo injured in 3 
3 the slightest possible manner, or to anyone whose js 
3 complexion (no matter in how bad condition it may a 
3 be), will not be cleared, whitened, improved andg 
3 beautified by the use of Derma-Royale. 

2 Put up In elegant style In large eight-ounce Bottles. 

= Price, 81.00. EVERY BOTTLE GUARANTEED, a 

3 Derma-Royale sent to any address, safely packed a 

2 and securely sealed from observation, safe delivery 5] 
= guaranteed, on receipt of price, $1.00 per bottle. 3 
a Send money by registered letter or money order with — 
= your full post-office address written plainly; be sureg 
= to give your County, and mention this paper. 

3 Correspondence sacredly private. Postage stamps — 

5 received the same as cash. • 3 

| AGENTS WANTED 110 A DAY, | 

— Address The DERMA-ROYALE COMPANY, a 

Corner Baker nnd Vine Streets. CINCINNATI OIIIO. 

^miiiiMiiiiiiiiiiuiiiiniiiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnuiHiumv^ 



Will pend sealed letter. Avoid auveru»iu K uuuvn. . 

address Mrs. ELLA M. DENT, Station B, SanFraucisco,Cal. 


, r?- 

SUPERB FORM. ' 
LOVELY COMPLEXION, 
PERFECT HEALTH. 

These are my portraits, and 
on account of the fraudulent 
air-pumps, “wafers,” etc., of- 
fered for development,! will tell 

any lady FREE what I used to se 
cure these changes. HEALTH 
(cure of that ‘ ‘ tired ” feeling 
and all female diseases) 

Superb FORM, Brilliant 
EYES and perfectlyPure 
COMPLEXION assured, f 

eealed’letter. Avoid advertising frauds 



Name this paper, and 



18th Edition— post-paid for 25 cents (or stamps). 

THE HUMAN HAIR, 

Why it Falls Off, Turns Gray, and the Remedy. 
By Prof. HARLEY PARKER, F.R.A.S. 

A. K. LONG & CO., 

1013 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa. 

“ Every one should read this little book.” Athentcum. 




%?< r ~^<r^ RHILROHD S 

aandzsi HSErm .- 


. p - : ^^.^.^ p . p . [::rp . prp . 



The Burlington Route 



THROUGH 

VESTIBULED 

TRAINS 

FROM 

LAKE 

MICHIGAN 

TO 

ROCKY 

MOUNTAINS 


PURCHASE YOUR TICKETS VIA THE BURLINGTON ROUTE , 

AND REALIZE THE MAXIMUM OF SAFETY , LUXURY , SPEED AND COMFOR 
TICKETS CAN BE OBTAINED OF ANY RAILROAD OR STEAMSHIP 
AGENT IN THE UNITED STATES OR CANADA. 


P. S. EUSTIS, GEN'L PASS' R AND TICKET AGENT, C. B. & Q. R. R. t CHICAGO, ILL 


34 


Tsrzrr 















$$<*<* MISCELLANEOUS 



NEPONSET 


Are necessary in the erection of 
every well-constructed building. 



WATER-PROOF 


RELIABLE 
ARCHITECTS 
ALL INDORSE 


Better and cheaper than back plaster, 
and does not crumble. Always in place. 


Samples and full information FREE. 


FADRIC8 


on eaoh roll of Fi Wi BIRD & SON. MANUFACTURERS, EAST WALPOLE, MASS. 

ALL GENUINE “NEPONSET.” \ 


A RIGHT VIEW OF THINGS. 

NO BEAUTY IN FENCING ONLY UTILITY. 

For example, a paling fence shuts out (or in) half the beauty of lawn 
and flowers ; obliquely viewed, all. The owner, aiming for privacy and 

against depredation, did not mean to substitute 
carpentry for Nature. 

The truth is, that fencing is best which obstructs 
the view least, while neat, durable, and strong. 

Ours is of steel, not wire, and costs from 25 to 
60 cents per linear foot. Write for Illustrated Cat- 
alogue K on the subject. Mention this Magazine. 

„ r 67 ReadeSt., New York. CENTRAL EXPANDED METAL CO., 

Branch Othces . j Ioa6 Ridge Ave> Philadelphia. 53 , Wood Street, PITTSBURGH, PA. 




Manufacturers of 

Bay State Ranges, 

Bay State furnaces, 

Bay State Gas Ranges, 
Bay State Parlor Stoves. 


Barstom Stove Go. 

PROVIDENCE, R. I. 

NEW YORK. 
^ BOSTON. 


H AVE you ever stopped to think how many postage stamps are 
wasted every day, and how much the Government must be ahead 
from the sale of stamps which are never used? Almost every 
one, especially those who travel, would like to carry a few stamps in 
the pocket, but cannot because they have such a way of sticking 
together. We have a little device which overcomes all difficulties. 
Send for one, and if you have no use for it yourself, doubtless you have 
some friend who will be glad to use it. 

Have you ever seen a Bay State Range or Furnace, or a Bay State 
^ Gas Range or Parlor Stove, in operation T If not, get one and try it, 

and you will stick to the use of it as surely and as closely as a postage stamp will stick to another 
postage stamp in hot weather, when carried in the pocket outside of one of our little stamp cases^ 


^OWU 


OHT( D-ldf 


LARGE FUR RUGS $2.00 

Send 82.00 for beautiful Fur Rug, perfect in every 
respect, with long soft Fur, either Silver White or Grey ; 
6^ ft. long, 33 in. wide, suitable for any Parlor or Recep- 
tion Hall. Our Illustrated Book on Carpets and Curtains 
mailed FREE. Reference— Deshler National Bank. 
Lawrence, Butler & Benham, Columbus, O. 


PATENTS 


No attorney’s fee until patent is ob- 
_ talned. Write for “A Short Talk.” 

£ WALTER DONALDSON & CO..WASH., D.C. 


t 

1 

g -> 

j "Jp 

Ill 

| 





th e D.F, MOR GA N BOILER C O. 
AKRON.O. and CHICAGO. 


35 



WITH THE WITS. 



“There’s much,” she said, “in politics 
To rouse my curiosity : 

A ‘ deal’ I cannot understand ; 

What is ‘protection,’ tell me, and 
What’s ‘reciprocity’?” 


Just then his arm slipped round her waist 
With lover-like velocity : 

“That is protection, dear, and this” 

(Just then the maid returned his kiss) 

“Is reciprocity.” 


36 






MISCELLANEOUS 



The Secret of Beauty 

i 

Is found in Cuticura Soap, the most effective 
Skin Purifying and Beautifying Soap in the world, 
as well as the purest and sweetest of toilet and 
nursery soaps. It is the only preventive and 
cure of pimples, blackheads, red, rough, and oily 
skin, red, rough hands, with shapeless nails, dry, 
thin, and fall.nghair, and simple baby blemishes, 
because the only preventive of inflammation and 
clogging of the pores, the cause of minor affec- 
tions of the skin, scalp, and hair. 

CUTICURA SOAP 

Derives its remarkable purifying and beautifying 
properties from Cuticura, the great Skin Cure, 
but so delicately are they blended with the purest 
of toilet and nursery soap stocks, that the result 
is incomparably superior to all other skin and 
complexion soaps, while rivalling in delicacy and 
surpassing in purity the most expensive of toilet 
and nursery soaps. Sale greater than the com- 
bined sales of all other skin and complexion soaps. 

Sold throughout the world. Prepared by Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boston, . . 

the Skin, Scalp, and Hair,” 64 pages, 300 Diseases, 50 Illustrations and Testimon.als, 

mailed free to any address. _____ 

ENTIRELY NEW AND ORIGINAL IN DESIGN. 




TEA SPOON 

Has not only local interest, but appeals to 
every * patriotic American. 

The likeness, in relief, of our martyred 
President is strikingly good ; a fac- 
simile of his signature runs across 
an encircling flag, which grace- 
fully folds around the han- 
dle and unfurls 
amid stars 
in the 


owl of the 
poon. Eagle, Shield, 
tars, and Stripes unite in 
taking the GARFlBbD 
POON distinctively American — 
n appropriate Souvenir of him 
hose likeness and signature it bears. 

The Spoons are of Sterling Silver, mod- 
lled on fine steel dies artistically beautiful, and 
luch in contrast with the clumsy cast-work so 
bjectionable on many souvenir spoons. 

PRICE-LIST. Sent, Post-paid, to any Address. 

Coffee Spoon, Gold Bowl . $1.75 

0r ^ e :: s?id er “ : I:?? 

^hargeT/engraving a name, or name of any city, in the bowl. Address 

Cor. Superior and Seneca Sts., 

he Webb C. Ball Co., CLEVELAND, OHIO. 

,. Mention this Magazine 

SSS Diamonds, Watches, Jewelry, & Silverware. wh.» 

37 


Spoon, Silver Bowl 
“ Gold 
“ Silver “ 


$2.50 
3.00 
1.50 



OF THE 


American Kxpress Co. 


More Convenient than Letters of Credit or Circular Notes, and Half* tile Cost. 
Available at over 20)000 places in Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, and 
elsewhere. 

Traveler’s Signature secures and identifies him. 

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Exact amount in Foreign Money printed on cheque will be paid. 

No Commissions or Discounts whatever. 

t 

Principal Hotels receive tliesn in settlement of accounts. 

Checks issued for #10, $20, $50, and $100 each, with the Foreign Equivalents, in 
any quantity, and can be divided among members of a family or party. 

Cheques, Rates, and further particulars can be obtained 
from any Agent of the American Express Company, 

from Banks or Bankers representing us throughout the United States and 
Canada, or at the 


Principal Office of the Company, 65 Broadway, New York. 


38 







jc^4dcLcu£j ^ . r J r '!->, J^rJrJrJ 

^SPORTING GOODS'^ 




50 MILES on th i“ road 2 hrs. 24 min. 

23 MILES, 1400 YDS. |fj QNE HOUR. 


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CELEBRATED ORjVIOfJDE BICYCLES, 

which we are selling very low. 

Send for Catalogue. 

THE AMERICAN ORMONDE CYCLE CO., 

2081 and 2083 Seventh Ave., New York. 


SNELLED HOOKS. 

where to procure H ONEST SN ELLED HOOKS? 

We do not claim to be the only firm that has them, 
but we have got them, and they are the BEST. 
Sproat, Carlisle, Limerick, Aberdeen, Sneck, N. Y., 
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The “Chubb” Catalogue for ’92 gives prices for 
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Flies, Lancewood and Split Bamboo Rods. 

Send 25c. for Catalogue. This may be deducted 
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or more, by enclosing Coupon which accompanies 
Catalogue. Address 

T. H. CHUBB ROD CO., 

Please mention Lippincott’s. Post Mills, Vt. 



Highest grade in material and work- PflBUMCltiC OK CllsklOll TlKeS . 

manship. Write for catalogue to 

WILSON, MYERS & CO., Makers, 55 Liberty St., and 1786 Broadway, New York. 



SAVE $40.00 ON NEW $140.00 

BICYCLES 

W, Latest Pattern 140 
Bicycles for # 1 DO. Cheap. 
^ grades in proportion; 

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Dayton, Ohio. 
BICYCLES, BUNS * TYPEWRITERS taken In exchange. 


BICYCLES 

OX EASY-PAYMEXT PEAX. 

All leading standard makes. Old wheels taken in 
exchange. Catalogue, list ot second-hand wheels, 
mid easy terms of payment mailed free. Cushion and 
Pneumatic tires applied to old wheels at moderate 
cost. Bicycle suits, $7 to $15 ; caps, 75c. to $1.50; long 
stockings, 39c. to $1.50. Catalogue and Athletic 
Journal free. 

PECK A SXYliER, 126 Xassau St., X.Y. 


The Travelers’ Bureaus of The News Series 
(Herkimer, N. Y. Office) will send you trustworthy 
1 information about summer resorts without charge. 

39 



ACME FOLDING BOAT CO., MIAMISBCBG, < 



WITH THE WITS. 



In grammar-time it came to pass 
That twenty maids, assembled 
Before the Argus of the class, 
Their ignorance dissembled. 


With wiles adroit they sought to 
hide 

The lack of preparation 
That marks that dreamful summer* 
tide 

Adjacent to vacation. 


The teacher, too, seemed half distraught, 
’Twixt pensiveness and duty, 

And had the sweet infection caught 
Of singing summer’s beauty. 


And so, when torpor’s odors masked 
Came with their sweet suggestions, 
She yielded to the spell, and asked 
The very simplest questions. 

And to a maiden standing near 
She said, with smiling traces, 

“Can you decline ‘a man,’ my dear, 
And give me all the cases?” 

When questions come with aim direct, 
It takes the subtlest ruses 
Of labor-shirking intellect 
To frame the right excuses. 

Still said the maid, as she began 
To turn the hue of roses, 

“Pray, how can I decline ‘a man’ 
Until the man proposes?” 

40 



q 1 N H S L L’5^- 

Sixth Ave., 20th to 21st St., 

% * 



THE LARGEST AND FINEST ESTABLISHMENT 
OF ITS KIND IN THE COUNTRY. 


NEW YORK CITY, 

IMPORTERS AND RETAILERS, 

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l 

Spring and Summer Goods. 


We beg to inform our Patrons that we have 
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Jackets, Dress Goods, Silks, etc., in this city. Pay a visit to our Mammoth Establishment, 
and see the inducements we are offering. We are sure we can please you both in quality and price. 
Paid packages shipped free of charge to any address within 75 miles of New York City. 

Orders by mail promptly attended to. 


H. O’NEILL <& CO., 6th Avenue, 20th to 21st Street. 


Embarrassing, 



isn’t it, 
^# ## when your 
» •** dress flies 
open. It can’t, if 
you use the De 
Long Hook and 
Eye. See that 


humpr 




OPIUM 


Habit cured without suffering, at a 
private home. No fee until cured. 
Indorsed by eminent physicians. 

O. S. Sargent, M.D, Brookline, 
Mass., suburb of Boston. 


GOOD SALARY ing for tne at tin ir lit 

MMBH Hr»rjWr . , Tr , r -irt BBHaSW mein own handwriting with stamped 
envelope. MISS EDNA L, SMYTH E, Box 400, SOUTH BEND, IND. 
Proprietor of the FAMOUS GLORIA WATER for the Complexion. 


to ladle* wi!» 
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For 30 Davs. wishing to Introduce our CRAYON PORTRAITS and at the same time 
1 extend our business and make new customers, we have decided to make this Special Oilers 


Send us a Cabinet Picture, Photograph, Tintype, Ambrotype or Daguerotype of yourself 
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EWET 

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jgpB HM| war* BP* TRAIT FREE OF CHARGE, provided you exhibit it to your friends as a sample of our 
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mail to TTTF CRESCENT CRAYON CO. Opposite New German Theatre, CHICAGO, ILL. P. S-We will forfeit 
C10O to anyone sending us photo and not receiving crayon picture FULL as per this offer. This offer is bonaflda 

41 


I 



Worcester's Dictionary 


is the Standard Authority on all Questions 
of Orthography, Pronunciation, or Definition, 

And is so recognized by all the colleges of the country. Leading bock- 
publishers recognize Worcester as the highest authority, and millions of school- 
books are issued every year with this work as the standard. 

“ It follows from this with unerring accuracy, ’ ’ says the New York Evening 
Post, “ that Worcester’s Dictionary, being preferred over all others by scholars 
and men of letters, should be used by the youth of the country and adopted in 
the common schools. ” 

v/ 

Worcester’s New Academic Dictionary 

Is designed especially for the use of the higher schools and seminaries of learning , 
but is well adapted in its scope and range to the needs of families and indi- 
viduals. The distinctive feature of the book is its treatment of the etymology of 
words. 

Printed from entirely new plates. 688 pages. 264 Illustrations. $1.50. 

\\/ 

?I\ 


Five Thousand Copies sent to Boston , on a 

single order, for use in the public schools. 


THE STANDARD DICTIONARY for Typewriters and Stenographers. 


Worcester’s New Comprehensive 


Contains a full vocabulary of fifty thousand words. The 
design has been to give the greatest quantity of useful 
matter in the most condensed form, to guard against cor- 
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work to the use of the higher schools and seminaries of 
learning , and also to make it a convenient manual for 
families and individuals. 

Printed from entirely new plates. 688 pages. 

577 Illustrations. $1.40. 



Sent by mail to any 
address on receipt 
of price. 


< 

I. B. Lippincott Company, Publishers, 

7«5 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. 



HOUSEHOLD HRTIOLPS 




GOOD CAUSE FOR COMPLAINT. 


Cabot’s Creosote 

SHINGLE STAINS. 



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Cheaper than Paint. 

More Artistic than Paint. 
Better than Paint. 

A soft, velvety coloring for 
shingles and all rough work. 
We guarantee the durability if 
properly applied. 


Deax* me ! these shades are more bother than they 
are worth. Won’t you have HARTSHORN’S 
SELF-ACTING SHADE ROLLERS put in these 
windows, John, and then we will have no further 
trouble ? 

John agrees and will be careful to notice Stewart 
Hartshorn’s signature on label attached to each 
roller. 


MramiEHlD 
■MIB 

What better evidence can a builder 
have of the great popularity of Sliding 
Window Blinds, than to see in any 
Architect's or Builder’s Journal so 
mmy specifications calling for the 
above blinds, all over this great coun- 
try? The blinds slide up and down in 
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at any position; don’t interfere with 
curtains and window drapery, etc. 
Tens of thousands are in use. “Merit 
wins." “The fit’est service.” Send 
four-cent stamp for 80-page illustrated 
catalogue to 

Hartman Sliding Blind Co. f 

26 Beaver St., Wooster, Ohio, U.S.A. 

HOW MANY YEARS 

Will lay Piano last? 

If it be this make it may 
outlive you. Interesting 
Catalogue. 

C. C. BP.IG33 & CO., 

5 and 7 Appleton Street, Boston. 





C OFFER, STEEL , OR TIN. 


MERCHANT & 

Philadelphia. Sole 

Netv Pork. Manufacturers. 


CO.. 

Chicago. 

London. 


Patent 

applied 

for. 


SPANISH 


Send 6 cents in stamps for samples on wood, with 
circulars and sheaf of sketches. 

SAMUEL CABOT, Sole lannfactnrer, 

78 Kilby Street, Boston, Mass. 



COMBINATION 

ST A PS 

One style made especially for the 
CENTURY DICTIONARY 

as shown in cut. £2?” 

Revolving Book Cases, Book Rests, 
Dictionary Holders, Utility Tables. 
Send for R. M. LAMBIE. 
Catalogue. 89 E. 19th St., N. Y. 


Bf 

O 

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YOUR FUTURE 


REVEARED. Written prediction^ 
your life, 10c. Give date of birth. 
Astrologer.Box 326. Kansas City Mo. 


THE TOURIST. For Travellers. UTICA, N. Y. 


43 





WITH THE WITS. 



He Knew Him. 

Prisoner, to judge. — “I think you ought to know me pretty well by this time, 
your honor.” 

Judge. — “Yes, I do ; I have you down fine, — ten dollars fine.” 


“Success in small things often lies.” 

Yes, there is no denying, 

A little “ whopper” multiplies, 

And, to persist in the disguise, 

You have to keep on lying. 

44 


1-1 ■"* 1-1 f* ■- j c^ ^ , c Ht£c£ ri sL ^ EHdxiij ddj^ .xdi£ jd„d.d HEHHS5jdjd:jdjc££ £HH HjdE 

MISCELLANEOUS •*&$> 

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ASK YOUR GROCER FOR 

Tfae Celebrated 


Annual Sales Exceed 33 MILLION LbS« 

Write fop Samples. Sent Free. Menler, Union Sq., N. Y. 


^ x&mrnrnmm^ ., 



“THE BELLE OF NELSON ” 

an elegant If AXII-XI ADE sour-mash whiskey, 
distilled, on the Ante-Bellum plan, in the moun- 
tains of Kentucky, — especially for gentlemen as a 
beverage, or a restorative for brain-workers and 
nervous debility. 

To suit this demand, we bottle our oldest stock, 
which was distilled in 1875, and put in cases, con- 
taining 12 bottles, at $15 per case; or can supply it 
by the gallon, keg, or barrel, from 5 to 15 years old, at 
$4 to $7.50 per gallon. 

For the character of our house, established in 
1845, we refer to the Governor of Kentucky, Judges 
of our Supreme Court, and all Louisville Banking 
Institutions. ,, T . 

The absolute purity of “The Belle of Nelson is 
guaranteed. Address 

BELLE OF NELSON DISTILLERY CO., 

123 and 25 E. Main Street, 

LOUISVILLE, KY. 


HR. E. €. WEST’S 

NERVE AND BRAIN 

Treatment, a specific for Hysteria, Dizziness, Fits, 
Nervous Neuralgia, Headache, Nervous Prostration 
caused by the use of alcohol or tobacco, W akef ulness, 
Mental Depression, Softening of the Brain, resulting 
in insanity, misery, decay, and death. Premature 
Old Age, caused by over-exertion of the Brain. Each 
box contains t month’s treatment. $1.00 a box, or 6 
boxes for $5.00. by mail. 

WE GUARANTEE SIX BOXES, 

With each $5 order we will send a written guarantee 
to refund the money if the treatment does 1 not cure. 
Guarantees issued only Ly FiNNERTV. McC^m ^ 
Co., Sole Ag ts., 106 Market St., Philadelphia, Penna , 
- - ■■ 1 M ^Writing thoroughly la ugh t 

HORT HAlMDby ill nil or personally. 

if untlonn procured for we^V V. 

Jot and Peruna^Tship throughly taught by mail. 














I 


'tlwW’, 


A Family Affair 

Health for the Baby, 

1 Pleasure for the Parents, 
New Life for the Old Folks. 

Hires’ 

Root Beer 

THE GREAT 

TEMPERANCE DRINK 

'is a family affair— a requisite 
of the home. A 25 cent 
package makes 5 gallons of 
a delicious, strengthening, 
effervescent beverage. 


7 


. Don’t be deceived If a dealer, for 
I the sake of larger profit, tells you 
some other kind is “ just as good ” 
— ’tis false. No imitation is as good 
as the genuine Hires’. 



CARBUTT’S ORTHO-PLATES and FILMS 

are now the favorites with all bright Professionals and 
Amateurs. Ask yourdealer for them and take no other* 
Write for reduced pnce list. 

JOHN CAR BUTT, Wayne Junction, Philadelphia, 

Mention Lippincott’s Magazine. 




using ' ‘Antl-CorT>i,.v..^ — . 

sickness, contain no poison ana ne> el 


month. They cause no w— — -- r — 

fail. Sold by Druggists every where or sent by mail. 1 artlctt 
Ian (sealed) 4c. WILCOX SPECIFIC CO,, 1 hlla.. 


Pa. 


45 






POPULAR TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN BY 


MRS. A. L. WISTER. 






COUNTESS 

ERIKA’S 

APPRENTICESHIP. 




i2mo. Cloth, $1.25 


• • 





Authorized Translation 
of a New Novel by Ossip 
Schubin. . . Just Issued. 

“This charming - story but adds another to 
the long list of Mrs. Wister’s successful transla- 
tions of the very best German authors. In the 
modest preface the author states with com- 
mendable frankness that his books gain rather 
than lose by the translation when Mrs. Wister 
is the translator. 

“The heroine is of the most pronounced 
type of the German fraulein, who is misunder- 
stood and neglected in childhood to blossom 
into the most delightful and bewildering of 
brilliant beauties. Her apprenticeship is that 
of sentimentality, and when rudely aw r akened 
to a true knowledge of human nature she shows 
herself a woman worth winning.” — St. Louis 
Republic. 


“O THOU, MY AUSTRIA !” 

By Ossip Schubin i2tno. Cloth, $1.25. 

“The heroine of the story, Zdena, is a bright, charming little creature who writes down the 
history of her brief life with a frankness which reminds the reader of Marie Bashkirtseff’s early 
confessions. This autobiography falls under the eyes of Zdena’s uncle and guardian, and is 
made the basis of the story upon which the pretty superstructure of the young lady’s latter 
experiences is reared. The plot is treated with freshness and much sprightliness.” — N. Y. 
Literary News. 

THE ALPINE FAY. 


By E. Werner i2mo. Cloth, $1.25. 

“Two pretty, motherless girls are the two heroines. The father of one is an extremely 
wealthy man and president of a great railway company ; the other’s father is a baron possessing 
a fine property and a baronial mansion in the Alps, which the railroad president is trying to 
obtain to make a line through for his road. In the struggle to retain his home the old baron 
dies cursing the originators of the railway. Added to this curse is a legend of the ‘Alpine Fay,’ 
connected with a high peak in the mountain, which is verified in the story just as the baron’s 
curse seems to carry out its evil work. The story is made up of many charming scenes from 
German domestic life and several love affairs .” — Minneapolis Tribune. 


OTHER TRANSLATIONS. 


Erlach Court. By Ossip Schubin . . . $1.25 

The Owl’s Nest. By E. Marlitt. . . . 1.25 
Picked Up in the Streets. By H. Scho- 

bert 1.25 

Saint Michael. By E. Werner . . . . 1.25 
V oletta. By Ursula Zoge von Manteufel 1.25 
The I y ady with the Rubies. By E. Marlitt 1.25 
Vain Forebodings. By E. Oswald . . . 1.25 

A Penniless Girl. By W. Heimburg . . 1.25 

Quicksands. By Adolph Streckfuss . . 1.50 


Banned and Blessed. By E. Werner . . $1.50 


A Noble Name. By Claire von Glumer . 1.50 
From Hand to Hand. By Golo Raimund .1.50 

Severa. By E. Hartner 1.50 

The Eiehliofs. By Moritz von Reichen- 

bach 1.50 

A New Race. Bv Golo Raimund . . . 1.25 

Castle Hohenwald. By Adolph Streck- 
fuss 1.50 

Margarethe. By E. Juncker 1.50 


COMPLETE LIST OF MRS. WISTER’S TRANSLATIONS AND NEW ILLUSTRATED 
FICTION CATALOGUE SENT FREE TO ANY ADDRESS ON APPLICATION. 


*** For sale by all Booksellers. Sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of 
price by the Publishers, J. B. Uippincott Company, 71s and 717 Market 
Street, Philadelphia. ' D ' ' 


46 




^^^^SBBS5SgH5H5BB5SH55HB55HH55HHg!5SH gEES5g H5H 

RHILROHDS 

pppr ppp-^^ppp ppp .^ p^-r ppp, pyj -p ppp ' _, ^ ,,-ppp • P'PH p P ' ^P T^TTp 



YELLOWSTONE 
NATIONAL PARK 

- - - - THAT - - ~ - 


“Wonder of wonders, where it seems God left a portion of His 
creative handiwork unfinished, that He might show His children 

How the World was Hade.” 


THIS 

AHERICAN WONDERLAND, 

“ situated in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, on the broad, 
rugged summit of the Continent, amid snow and ice, and dark, 
shaggy forests, where- the great rivers take their rise, surpassing 
in wakeful, exciting interest any other region yet discovered on 
the globe,” 

IS CONVENIENTLY REACHED 


- - - BY THB - » - 

Northern Pacific {Railroad. 

IF YOU WANT TO TAKE 


The Trip of a Lifetime 

send for our illustrated tourist books, and the latest and best maps 
published, of Yellowstone Park, Puget Sound, and Alaska. 


!. M. HANNAFORD, 


Gen’l Traf. flgr. 


ST. PAUL, 

47 


CHAS. S. FEE, 

Gen’l Pass. & Tkt, Agt. 


MINN. 


WITH THE WITS . 






* "X 



If ever you hear a bewitching young miss 
Inquire what the wild waves are saying, 

You may tell her with confidence something like this 
It is that the wild waves are saying : 

“When a maiden says ‘no’ when you beg a caress, 
It is often her roundabout feminine ‘ yes :’ 

She is willing enough, but she mustn’t confess.” 
And that’s what the wild waves are saying. 

Whenever a mild impecunious man 

Inquires what the wild waves are saying, 

If you care to be frank, then you easily can 
Explain what the wild waves are saying : 

“When old Needy comes up with a lubricant smile 
And suggests by his looks how he dotes on your style, 
Then look out for the loan he’ll ask after a while.” 
And that’s what the wild waves are saying. 



Whenever a man with a business to sell 
Inquires what the wild waves are saying, 

With the good will and fixtures, it’s easy to tell 
What the solemn old wild waves are saying : 
“Then it’s time to inquire of this curious elf, 

If his business secures such abundance of pelf, 

Then why in the world don’t he keep it himself?” 
And that’s what the wild waves are saying. 

Whenever you hear the unhappy young Fret 
Inquire what the wild waves are saying, 

You may know they are words he will promptly forget, 
Which the salty old wild waves are saying : 
“When a mortal is never content with his lot, 

If he don’t like it cold, why he can’t like it hot, 
The best place to hustle is right on the spot.” 

And that’s what the wild waves are saying. 


1 





MISCELLANEOUS 

F7*7*^7*7^7TPT’ ?r^riri'7i PWTmv rpm jpp yjp - ^i^ 



BABY’S BLOOD, SKIN, AND SCALP 
CLEANSED, PURIFIED, AND BEAUTIFIED 
OF EVERY HUMOR, ERUPTION, AND DISEASE 



By the Cuticura Remedies when the best physicians, hospitals, and all other 
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most torturing of Itching and Burning Eczemas, 
and other itching, scaly, crusted, and blotchy 
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and point to a permanent and economical (be- 
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CUTICURA 


The great skin cure, and Cuticura Soap, an 
exquisite skin purifier and beautifier, externally, 
instantly allay the most intense itching, burning, 
and inflammation, soothe and heal raw and irri- 
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Resolvent, the new blood and skin purifier 
and greatest of humor remedies, cleanses the 
blood of all impurities and hereditary elements, 
and thus removes the cause. 


4®^ “All about the Blood, Skin, Scalp, and Hair," 64 pages, 300 Diseases, 50 Illustrations, and 100 
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Cuticura Remedies are sold throughout the world. Price, Cuticura, 50c. ; Cuticura Soap, 25c. ; Cuticura 
Resolvent, #1.00. Prepared by Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boston. 


X 


READER’S 

Reference 

Library. 


s/ 

->'C 


10 vols. Crown 8vo. 

Half morocco, gilt top, in box. 
Per set, $26.00. 


/N 


For sale by all Booksellers, or will 
be sent, transportation free, on 
receipt of the price. 

J.B.LIPPINGOTT COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS, 

715 and 717 Market St., Phila. 




BREWER’S HISTORIC NOTE-BOOK. A Die- 

tionary of Historic Terms and Phrases. $3.50. 

THE WRITER’S HANDBOOK. A General 
Guide to the Art of Composition and Style. $2.50. 

BREWER’S READER’S HANDBOOK of 

Facts, Characters, Plots, and References. $3.50. 

BREWER’S DICTIONARY OF PHRASE 
AND FABLE. Giving the Derivation, Source, 
or Origin of about 20,000 Common Phrases, Illu- 
sion^, and Words that have a Tale to Tell. $2.50. 

BREWER’S DICTIONARY OF MIRACLES. 

Imitative, Realistic, and Dogmatic. With Illustra- 
tions. $2.50. 

EDWARDS’S WORDS, FACTS, AND 
•PHRASES. A Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, 
and Out-of’-the-Way Matters. $2.50. 

WORCESTER’S COMPREHENSIVE DIC- 
TIONARY. Revised, Enlarged, and Profusely 
Illustrated. $2.50. 

ROGET’S THESAURUS. A Treasury of English 
Words. Classified and arranged so as to facilitate 
the Expression of Ideas and assist in Literary Com- 
position. $2.50. 

ANCIENT AND MODERN FAMILIAR QUO- 
TATIONS. From the Greek, Latin, and Modern 
Languages. $2.50. 

SOULE’S ENGLISH SYNONYMES. A Dic- 
tionary of Synonymes and Synonymous or Parallel 
Expressions, £2,50* 

49 








RHILROHDS 

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ON THE CREST OF THE ALLEGHANIES, 

3000 Feet Above Tide-Water . 


SEHSON OPENS JUNE 22, 1592. 


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These famous mountain resorts , situated at 
the summit of the Alleghanies and directty upon 
the main line of the Baltimore and Ohio Rail- 
road ', have the advantage of its splendid vestibided 
express-train service both east and west, and are 
therefore readily accessible from all parts of the 
country . All Baltimore and Ohio trains stop 
at Deer Park and Oakland during the season . 

Electric lights have been introduced through- 
out the houses and grounds ; Turkish and 
Russian baths and large swimming pools pro- 
vided for ladies and gentlemen ; suitable grounds 
for lawn tennis ; bowling alleys and billiard 
rooms are here ; fine riding and driving horses, 
carriages, mountain wagons, tally-ho coaches, 
etc,, are kept for hire ; in short, all the necessary 
adjuncts for the comfort, health, or pleasure of 
patrons . 

Rates, $60, $75, and $90 a month, 
according to location. 



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H LL COMMUNICATIONS should be addressed to 
GEORGE D. DeSHIELDS, Manager Baltimore and 
Ohio Hotels, Cumberland., Md., up to June IO; after that 
date, either Deer Park or Oakland, Garrett County, Md. 

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60 


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W anamaker’s 


You can no more get a just notion of Wanamaker’s, without 
a personal visit, than you can of Niagara Falls, without seeing that 
wonder of nature. Of course, you can know in a vague way 
that Wanamaker’s is the biggest store in the world, but, after all, 
such a generality stands for little. Admit that it is the biggest, 
what of that? Put a surveyor at work on the floors, just as he 
would go to work at a prairie farm. He tells you there are 
almost fifteen acres in actual use — throwing out all the other 
acres that let light reach the lower floors. What do you realize 
of it all ? What do you comprehend when an astronomer tells 
you that it is twenty millions of millions of miles to the nearest 
fixed star ! 

Mere size in the store is not the vital point with you. To be 
sure, a business doesn’t grow to the Wanamaker size by accident. 
It must have deserved to grow or it wouldn’t have grown. That’s 
worth bearing in mind. But, perhaps, it has stopped deserving 
it ! That' s the question that comes closest to you. It’s the is, 
and not the was or the may be that you’re after. 

Try W r anamaker’s by that standard. Here is our assertion : 

All the stocks are very active. Completeness and Cheapness 
mark each collection. The store service is excellent, error at the 
minimum, promptness at the maximum. 

Every stock is fuller a7id better assorted with fresh goods than 
ever before in our store history. Prices are universally beloiv the 
markets. We have tided to catch our price-markers on this point, 
but have failed. 

One of the very corner-stones of the Wanamaker business 
makes proper prices sure. If you are not satisfied with what 
you buy at Wanamaker s you can have vour money back. Wrong 
prices would be suicidal. 

Fifty-three departments, and every one a first-class store of its 
kind. The biggest Dress Goods Stock in America: three acres 
of Furniture samples; an acre and a half of Carpets, and so on. 

. 

We sell more books over the counter than any other house 
between the oceans. Every sort for every proper taste. Solid 
and substantial, light and pleasing. And the price is always fair. 
New books almost as soon as the ink is dry. Book News (our 
only publication) does nothing but keep a careful eye on the 
whole book world. Once a month it lifts every new book for 
you, weighs its worth, tells you its drift, gives you the thoughts 
of the best critics about it, very likely shows you a sample 
picture — if there are illustrations. Single copy, 5^- > ^ 

JOHN WANAMAKER, Philadelphia. 

51 







B O O K S 



“One of the most notable 
contributions to Shakespeare 
literature in the present cen- 
tury.” — Manchester Guardian. 




• • • VARIORUM 
EDITION • • • • 


SHAKESPEARE 

EDITED BY 


HORACE HOWARD FURNESS, 

Ph.D., LL.D., L.H.D. 


Royal Octavo Volumes. Superfine toned paper. Extra cloth, uncut 

edges, gilt top. $4.00 per volume. 

JUST PUBLISHED: 

THE TEMPEST. 

“ Like its predecessors, it will be wel- 
comed by every one critically interested in 
the text of Shakespeare. When we say 
that the volume embraces some four hun- 
dred and sixty pages, it may be inferred 
how large the mass of illustrative matter 
has here been gathered together. Dr. Fur- 
ness is facile princeps as an editor, and 
what he has brought to bear in elucidation 
of the text is both judicious and exhaust- 
ive.” — North British Daily Mail. 

“It is always a pleasure to record that 
another volume has been added to the vari- 
orum edition of Shakespeare by Horace 
Howard Furness. His broad knowledge of 
books, his keen intelligence, and above all 
his sympathy with the author make him 
an ideal editor. His variorum edition of 
Shakespeare is invaluable alike to students 
and scholars because it brings together not 
merely the various readings but all the com- 
ments that have been made on particular 
assages, together with original comments 

? Mr. Furness drawn from his large fund 
knowledge, and such notes as may serve 
to determine moot points. . . . ‘The Tem- 
pest,’ with its notes, occupies 268 pages, and 
as many more are contained in the valuable 
appendix and index.” — Philadelphia Public 
Ledger. 

“ The notes — but what can be said of the 
notes to do them j ustice ? They are marvels 
of learning and painstaking, summing up 
and bringing to bear on the text the re- 
searches of the most eminent students of 
Shakespearian art and Shakespearian Eng- 
lish. They are extremely valuable.” — St. 

Louis Republic. 

“ A compendious and convenient sum- 
ming up on all that is known of the plays, 
of the light thrown on disputed passages by 
various writers and students with whatever 


The volumes previously issued are “As You Like It,” “The 
Merchant of Venice,” “ Othello,” “ Romeo and Juliet,” “ King 
Lear,” “ Macbeth,” “ Hamlet” (2 volumes). Uniform in style 
and binding, $4.00 per volume. 


or'^rbe^t^" J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY, Publishers, 

on receipt of the price. 

10 Henrietta St., Covent Garden, London. 

62 


information can go to make the understand- 
ing of Shakespeare more clear. Horace 
Howard Furness is probably the most thor- 
ough Shakespearian student who has ever 
lived, and this work is a monument of 
learning, of patient research and of intelli- 
gent application such as has rarely been 
produced in the world of literature.” — 
Boston Courier. 

“ ‘ The Tempest’ is one of the marvel- 
lously beautiful productions of Shakespeare 
most liberally com on . ^ ; cn ds itself 
to the critics as a work of such high imagi- 
nation that they strive to construe every 
passage, to analyze every character and 
even to explain what needs no explanation. 
Dr. Furness has had, therefore, a super- 
abundance of comment to select from, much 
of which he omits to quote because of its 
worthlessness. But there is a crowd of 
intelligent commentators whom he cites in 
lucid arrangement, occasionally interjec- 
ting a bright sentence of his own. The 
extent of his labor of this kind maj’’ be 
imagined from the fact that to one line of 
Ferdinand’s speech in the beginning of the 
third act he devotes more than a dozen of 
his ample pages. The line 

“ Most busy lest, whe. do it,” 

and it has been a puzzle to e\ -eader. 
The commentators quoted are fifty per- 
haps a hundred of the best Shakespea. 1 
scholars, and their explanations, emenda- 
tions, and suggestions represent a very civil 
war of words in which the ink-shed is 
tremendous; and yet the conflict settles 
nothing. The account of it, however, is 
diverting. It illustrates as well as any other 
part of the book the thoroughness, the 
exhaustless patience and the fine intelli- 
gence of the editor.” — Philadelphia Evening 
Bulletin. 


HYGIENIC ALLY 
^ / EVERY MAN 
& /commits A CRIME 

/ AGAINST COMMON SENSE IF HE DOES 
, / NOT WEAR THE GENUINE 

* Aguyot suspenders. 




BEWARE OR 
IMITA TIONS. 


THE NAHE OF 

CB. GBYOT 

ON EVERY 
PAIR. 

all others are 

IMITATIONS. 

For sale by every Men’s Furnishing, Dry Goods, 
and Clothing Store in the United States and Canada. 

If you are unable to procure from your dealer, 
send 50 cents in stamps for a sample pair to 

OSTHEIMER BROS. 

1 U. S.*and Canada. 

New York: Philadelphia: 

406 Broadway. 917-919 Filbert Street. 




-qXJRNETT's 


Standard — — Flavoring 

^tracts 


ABSOLUTELY * URE. 


. . 'o FULL MEASURE. 

(; 77' 

No cartoons to hide long-necked and panelled 
mottles. 


Testimony of Popular Hotels. 

'The best in the world.” Fifth Avenue Hotel, N. Y 

1 \Ve use only Burnett's ” . Young’s Hotel, Boston. 

'Pre-eminently superior.” Parker House, Boston. 

'The ne plus ultra.” United States Hotel, Saratoga. 

1 Par superior to any.” . Riggs House, Washington. 

None compare with yours.” 

Burnet House, Cincinnati. 

> We find them the best.” Southern Hotel, St. Louis. 

1 We use them exclusively.” Auditorium, Chicago. 

'Far better than any other.” Bussell Hotel, Detroit. 

Find them excellent ” 

Occidental Hotel, San Francisco. 


The “PASTEUR” 

THE OrtLY 

GERM PROOF FILTER 


IN THE WORLD. 



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Paris, France, March I, 1880. 
This Filter was Invented in my laboratory where 
its great usefulness Is pi t to test every day. 
Knowing its full scientific and hygienic value, I 
wish It to bear my name. 


00 





Between the South via 
Cincinnati and the 
World’s Fair is via 
the C. H. and D., 

in connection with 
\ the Monon Route, 

\ with its superb 
\ trains and unex- 
celled Dining 
Cars. Pur- 
chase tickets 


The 

C. H. & 1). is 

the direct line 
between Cin- 
cinnati, Tole- 
do, Detroit, and 
principal S u m in e r 
Resorts. Also the 
popular line between 
Cincinnati, St. Louis, 
Keokuk, and the West, 
with through car service be- 
tween all points mentioned. 


C.H.&l). 


M. D. WOODFORD, 

President. 


E. O. McCORniCK, 

Gen’l Pass, and Ticket Agt. 

CINCINNATI * O. 



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